Captain's paternity log
by CuteMcBeauty
Summary: Hook and Emma are expecting their first baby, and like a good sea Captain, Killian's keeping a month by month log of the events.
1. Month 1

Month one.

Routine feels good, I must say.

Living in a ship for so many years has acquainted me with the necessity and unspoken needy pleasure of writing a log. Everything that happens must be committed to print, lest one forget the events that might or might not unfold in later days.

So, my entry for this month will be thus: I am finally proud to say, if only to the blank pages of this book, that I am to be a father. And of course, no sooner did my lovely lass inform me of her condition I immediately jumped at making her my wife. I care not what people in this bloody realm think or what modern times dictate for such measure... I am a gentleman, and if the woman I love is with child (my child), she is to become an honorable bride. She deserves no less than that; she is worthy of all my unbridled love, affection and attention. So the day after we received the joyous news, we were wed. Nothing too ceremonious... just the way she likes things. I care not; as long as I can call her my wife, I'll abide to her every wish and whim. But then, I've done so for nearly two years now anyway, even when she didn't even consider it a possibility, her becoming Mrs. Jones. Ah, the woes of being in love...

I must say, I would have thought such tidings would have halted my heart in disquietude, but the mere thought that my Emma will bring my child into this world has flooded me with unparalleled joy. Never in a million years did I believe she'd give me the time of day, let alone share her heart with me... or my bed... or her bed rather, since I'm very much a shipless Captain. I must admit, though, Swan and I made a nice home here on land and the sea is just a blink's walk from here, so I'm pleased with this particular orchestration of things. Henry gets his own quarters, good lad that he is. He seemed contented with the notion of a brother or sister, so as his now official stepfather I have to admit I am pleased that he's pleased.

Swan is currently coursing her seventh week since gestation, and I have to say, it's an interesting experience to be awakened in the morning by the lovely retching sounds of my newly acquired lady wife regurgitating her previous night's repast in the water closet; Every morning, every bloody morning, without amiss. She returns to my bedside looking drawn and normally stares daggers at me with the words, "You did this to me Killian", or something equally hostile. I normally laugh, like I would... but I still feel for her. I admire her strength. I don't believe that, with all the adventures we've shared and the thrills and woes of all the dangers we've endured together, she has ever felt this way... or maybe she has once, with Henry. But then, she was by herself then, not a woman in love with a man who's fathering her second child, so I suppose that this will be yet another adventure we will share together, a mighty fine one, at that! So, here's to new beginnings. We will see what life has in store for the Jones's these coming months!

Feels good, saying that!


	2. Months 2 and 3

**Months two and three**

**Week 10**

I feel compelled to first commit the bits that put me off: Wife still terribly queasy, maybe more so than before... not to mention she scared the lights out of me when she perceived mild quantities of blood whilst in the loo. Must have been roughly three in the early hours of the morrow when she shook me awake in a frenzied state and I could have sworn death itself must have been cruising our chambers. And since I can't drive one of those blasted automated vehicles (won't deny I fear them like I fear death), she had to do so. The whole drive she flacked me on my bizarre misdoubt regarding these strange, noisy carts.

Gladly we were told by the good doctor that these things are fairly common in the early stages of gravidity, so Swan and I returned home silent but elated. She did apologize. I fail to see why. All the same, we slept till noon... when she rose to once again disgorge, rinse her mouth and hate me for ten seconds before falling back into my arms and loving me to near death.

Henry's already picked a name for our little one; Henry 2. Or Henrietta, should it be a wee lass. I said that I'd sooner lose my other hand than to commit an innocent child to the perils of mockery and humiliation by her peers by naming her Henrietta Jones. So the boy and I went into a half-witted debate over which names are the most absurd and his mother was about to emasculate the both of us. (I believe the boy and I picked Bellisarius and Ludmilla as officially the worst names in the history of the realms; at least I know what names are out of the question).

I don't want to saw Swan's always in a foul mood. She's always been testy; but I do feel for her plight. Must be strange, having a little person inside of you. Alas, I'll never know. Hence, I always understand when she snarls. She's a good-hearted woman... and beautiful. These past weeks she has emanated such radiance I can hardly believe my luck. There is now a small hardening of her belly which feels joyously fortuitous; she complains that she can no longer pull her garments up over her hips... she claims she's gone from Swan to Goose. Folly, really... to me she's still as beautiful as the day I met her... except, without a knife to my neck.

She and her mother have become very close. I am sincerely gratified by that. Both Emma and I come from childhoods that really include no certain father figure, so I am pleased that at least one of us has found that bond. Doesn't bother me; the Charmings have sort of adopted this pathetic former pirate and treat me well enough.

**Week 11**

Cravings...

Bloody cravings.

"Killian? Do you know how to make pancakes?"

That's right... at four in the bloody morning.

I turned a drowsy face and found my lovely lady Swan sitting on the bed, gnawing away at her lower lip and begging be for chocolate and blueberry pancakes. I honestly have no idea how those are done, so I sort of asked her. Picture me, barely clad, covered in dough at four in the morning, mixing batters, heating up pans, eggs, milk, melting butter... and I might or might not have ruined one of Emma's best pans while burning three pancakes in a row. But, my love had her pancakes.

I have indeed become a hero, haven't I?

I returned to bed, drawn but proud and now twice the man for having learned how to properly mix batter to the adequate point of frothiness needed to add fresh blueberries and specks of chocolate and make a decent stack of pancakes. Alas, she complained that I was still covered in flour and was soiling the blankets.

"Emma, darling? Eat your pancakes, love, and be content with them, for honestly, I don't give a damn about the sheets. Enjoy, my love."

**Week 12**

I can't remember how many times I denied being an emotional fellow.

Can't deny it now. Half the town and near all the staff in the hospital saw me weep like a babe after what Emma said would be "the deepest emotional shock of your life, Hook".

I truly have no clue how technology in this realm works but only a fool would deny that it's far more advanced than in our world, the enchanted Forest. Given, we get magic over there... or I don't but many folk do.

So, the adventure this week was for a medical and a thing called "ultrasound". I felt slightly uneased by my wife bearing herself almost to her breasts, but I am quite the old fashioned bloke here, so I just bit my tongue and tasted a little bile before the show began. A television; I am familiar with those now. And then, there was this odd looking machinery operated by whatever power seems to emanate from walls, whereas all things seem to plug into them. After a chat and some very cold jelly that made Emma squirm, the doctor used that odd machine atop her belly and lo and behold, something showed up on the television screen.

To me honest, I couldn't see a bloody thing; and I truly believe neither could Emma. It all looked like a large amount of black and white blotches projected onto a white sail... Until the doctor pointed out at a tiny, palpitating image. "That's your baby's heart", he said.

I could only see a foot past my nose after that. Tears clouded my vision. A heart! A beating heart!

All I had to do was tell someone or have Emma tell someone about it and the waterworks would operate themselves. Alas, when after the visitation we stopped for lunch at Granny's and Emma told half the clientele of our experience I practically melted into some sort of frothy goo of a man.

It went well. She kissed me at night and smiled at me. "You're a softie. Who knew..."


	3. Months 4 and 5

**Months four and five**

**Week 14 **

First interesting new development in our gravidity situation: I eat as much as she does. More so, actually. That odd old chap Mr. Hopper says it's called "mate's sympathy" and it's "perfectly normal". Perfectly normal, my bloody arse... I feel sick, I get dizzy spells and I really have started to notice my pants leave a mark around my waist these days, which means I'm ballooning as if I were the one carrying and not Emma. Not to mention the other day when I had a relentless desire to eat that cold creamy cloying substance called Ice Cream... Vanilla flavored. With strawberry syrup.

I am bloody pleased Blackbeard's no longer alive; I'd never, ever hear the end of this.

Emma's still a bit sick at times, but it's become far less damaging and I believe she's really starting to enjoy her condition. She smiles a lot; which is bloody wonderful. Her skin looks unblemished and her hair is shiny and bright and softer than usual, which is saying a lot. She's a glorious old creature, my wife...

While walking around town doing random errands two day's back, she suddenly stopped and gasped and smiled... again. She looked at me and reached out for my good hand. "Here, feel this!" she laughed aloud as she let my hand to her now very visible bulge... And I caught my breath when I felt the little one move. Like a thrust right into my hand. I won't deny I enjoyed the feeling. When it stopped we just held each other in contentment.

It's hard to believe we all come from the same source; when it happens to you, it's a completely different experience.

**Week 16**

Another one of them ultrasound sessions! This time I was far less emotional or at least I managed to keep the tears down to a minimum.

I barely managed, actually.

Swan and I had been making lists of possible names, both for a young lady as well as for a healthy young son. Either way, we'd be pleased and welcoming. As a name for little lass we truly loved Amelia or Beatrice; but after the ultrasound, we settled for Liam, my late brother's name. Apparently, amidst that sea of blotchy blacks and whites, the doctor could easily make out the gender of our child and had determined we are to birth a son.

It's soothing, spending afternoons in the quiet of our home, watching something on the television (I've truly become accustomed to that eerie old contraption), with me curled up on a couch, Emma curled up on me and Henry curled up on Emma. I normally take a swig or two from my flask and once I allowed Emma to have a sip, only to have Henry shout us both into kingdom come. Apparently, expectant women are not supposed to imbibe. All new to me, I had been witness to my share of fairly tough whisky-drinking babes as I was growing up, me being one of them, but still, if this is how things are done in this realm, then so be it.

**Week 18**

Henry, conniving little lad! Love him. Really do.

Emma and I had gone off for what she called a "Lamaze weekend" just off the edge of Storybrooke. Basically what it boiled down to was a weekend at an inn full of expectant ladies and their husbands being trained in the ways of labor. Odd; In the Enchanted forest, women curl up on a bed, push before a midwife and lo and behold, we have an infant. I don't know what additional circumstances surround the moment of birth in this realm, but this was not something I would have ever thought of. The other blokes seemed nice enough and I was a wee bit shocked to find myself enthralled in conversations that would have otherwise made my pirate's skin crawl; but being here now sort of made everyone equals, it seems. This is my reality now.

Bloody hell... if word of my activities gets out to Smee, the crew will rise in mutiny.

Upon returning, Henry had spiced up quite a pleasant surprise for us both. He, David and Mary Margaret had basically invaded our home and transformed our television room into a nursery. No problem there, the screen had been transferred to our chambers, so I was fine with that arrangement (did I mention I am addicted to that contraption and maybe to that thing Henry called X-Box?). Not to mention the three of them had actually revamped the place with such mastery and artistry it brought tears to Swan's eyes and a smile to my face. Whatever makes her happy makes me glad as well. There was a crib at the corner and it astounded me to think that not long from now I'd peer into it to see a young son look back at me from under the sheets.

I will not go into further detail regarding the décor or I will most certainly feel like an old wife.

Must be said as well: The babe kicks around like a sailor adrift in the sea. And Emma looks tremendous by now; really bulged... and beautiful. More so every day.

**Footnote: **

Must take a day off with David and get drunk. Maybe get in a fight? And perhaps take Grumpy the dwarf along for the melee; that will be fun.

**Week 20**

Finally made out a shape in that shagging ultrasound thing and it's rather nice to see the babe! Still can't make out who he will look like, though. Maybe the image will clear itself up later?

Emma cries over anything. When I say anything, I mean, anything.

I brought flowers... she cried.

I took Henry to school... she cried.

I picked him up... she cried.

We installed a fish tank at home... she cried.

I washed the dishes... she cried.

She remembered an old song by some musical group named Bon Jovi... she cried.

We watched a movie called Bambi... she was downright disconsolate for at least four hours. (I have to say the hunting death of the stag got me as well, but nothing like this).

Honestly, I would not have her any other way. Her melancholy is a marvelous excuse to embrace and console her, something I never grow weary of. Hmm, she might be using it as an excuse to feel me up and given the fact that from this point on there will be no lovemaking for the next six months, I'd better find ways to let out all sorts of carnal, libidinous desires without cheating or making it look like I am feeling lustful.

We get our final hot date this evening... I remind myself day in and day out just how much this will be worth the effort. I'd better, or her father will indeed make sure I wind up a pathetic old eunuch working the mines with the seven dwarfs.

Nothing I can't handle... I went back in time with the woman, I suppose a few months of deprivation won't kill me.

I suppose.


	4. Months 6 and 7

**Months six and seven**

**Week 21**

I cannot stress enough just how lovely the Swan looks like this. Maybe it's just me... or the fact that her bosom's grown to proportions even I could not have fathomed. I cannot help myself and I am glad I have this log to relieve myself with; having no other male (who is neither a pirate nor the son or father of my wife) to talk to does complicate my existence a tad... I have a hard time keeping my gaze steady on hers with a bosom like that! I try not to judge myself too harshly over my desires... I am male, hot-blooded (quite) and still desperately in love with my wife, can I be blamed for a little lust? Images of her in the Enchanted Forest wearing that dress with a tight bodice make my blood boil, especially if I apply it to these days' context. Bleeding hell... And the Swan's not making it any easier on me. For some reason (the doctor told us it was something called "hormones", which I'm yet to learn about), she's sort of a wanton these days. We find a way to get it done without actually doing it, if you get the gist... but she surprises even me, and that's saying a lot.

Still, there's something awfully endearing about her entire state... Makes me want to be holding her all the time.

She complained about waking up in the middle of the night with terrible cramps on her left leg. It was a sleepless night for both of us; her, on one side, eating an apple salad and myself on the other, holding her ankle in my hook and keeping her aching leg up while I rubbed the strain away with my good hand. Hooks do come in handy, I suppose.

It is, of course, needless to say who it was that made the apple salad for her.

As for young Liam Jones, I am pleased to say he is now roughly the size of a carrot, is perfectly healthy as far as we know and seems to be an apt swashbuckler, much like his father. He should also turn out a handsome little lad, now with a mother as lovely as Emma Swan and well, a dashing, devilishly handsome man such as I. Emma claims he's probably a martial arts expert... he has given her a bit of a hard time. He also gets that from me: Can't stress enough how proud I am.

**Week 24**

I have to say I do love the technology of this realm! It's taking me a while to become used to it; I suppose my brain is still somewhat primitive in many ways. That's what Henry says, anyway. But he's one bloody hell of a teacher when it comes to this sort of rubbish. He was fairly keen on me showing him how to navigate... really navigate, using the stars, the sun and the wind. So he told me how to use a GPS. Bloody thing... I swear calculus is easier than that infernal gadget. But I got the gist. I can now walk through Storybrooke with some bloody machine telling me where to turn left or right to get to my own home. Splendid.

However, when it comes to our situation, I have to say that using what Emma called an iPod was a jolly great idea. She believes young Liam's hearing is developed enough, so she uses that little thing to play music. I can't understand how an entire orchestra can fit into that puny thing; I don't care how many times I'm told of this, the only way I can wrap my mind around this whole thing, is that only magic can achieve this... maybe technology is the word for magic in this realm.

I'm getting off track, my apologies.

Anyways, she plays this thing called Mozart. Pleasant enough, I suppose... Takes the little contraption and places it on her belly for the babe to listen to the mellowing music whenever the wee rascal's up to his paddling antics, in order to settle his exhilaration.

I'm usually the one to nod off first.

**Week 26**

Very well. This is suddenly becoming very real, now.

The little one's nearly a foot long. He seems to be doing fine; we had some very different kind of ultrasound this time, a far better quality one; they called it 4D. I have no words to describe this accurately, even on paper, so I'll take my time to do so to the best of my ability:

I had always thought of child birth as a spur of the moment thing, not quite the process I've been learning of as Swan and I began to experience it. Can't blame me for my ignorance, now, I am without fault if I was born in 1764 and in another realm, then, am I not? But I do learn keenly... and while I had never before imagined exactly how a babe would settle inside a mother's womb, well... seeing it with my own eyes has painted quite a colorful picture of that particularity. Liam blinks, suckles, yawns, licks his little chops, scratches his face, smiles... does everything a newborn would do, except... well, he's still unborn. There are no words in any language known to man that would sufficiently convey how terribly emotional that makes me feel upon looking at my unborn son. But it also instills a certain degree of uncertainty and disquietude... What sort of father can a man with a hook for a hand and a past as black as night be for such a wondrous little being of light? The son of Princess Emma Swan, daughter of Snow White and Charming, the savior... and Pirate Captain Hook?

Not two nights ago I broke down entirely. Only Emma was there, bless her soul, I don't think I had gotten as bad as that since my brother tragically passed. But much like I hold her when goes off her own bend, she held me. "You're a good man, Killian, you will be an excellent father", she said. I don't know if it was her voice, her touch, or the fact that she said "I love you" right after that. I know she does, but Swan's never been one to openly express and convey her feelings. I care not... words are words and I feel her love for me day in and day out. All the same, hearing it is always a nice thing

Won't deny I am flustered... But I know now that, as long as I am with her, I can do and be anything. Even a good man.

**Footnote**: Must go on another drunken binge with my mate Charming. Although I am quite sure that, given his status as father of two and my current state of affairs, we'd likely wind up drinking milk instead of Rum.

**Week 28**

At the doctor's again this week. Emma complained she was having a nasty cramp around her right hip. I had told her that given she carried a child almost the size of a watermelon might have something to do with it. The doctor said it was caused by her hip expanding. "Great, after he's born I'll have the body of a walrus." I chuckled... she didn't find it the least bit amusing so that day I had lunch by myself.

My Swan's getting terribly quirky: everything is starting to ache and she complained that her ankles were swollen. I keep telling her to sit still and keep her feet up as much as possible; gravidity, no matter in which realm, is a serious matter. But how does one keep Emma Swan still? Her back, her head, her feet, her breasts, her fingers! I kid you not, her bloody fingers ache! She puts them in hot water every night to relieve the pain. I swear it hurts me to see her hurting so. Still, there I am, rubbing, soothing, cooking, cleaning... I have become a bloody housewife! But given a choice to return to being the cutthroat fear of the seven seas and being with my love, I'd still choose this a thousand times over. This is home.

She did tell me that Henry had never quite given her such hardship during his gestation; but then, Henry was the son of Baelfire, a good lad in every sense of the word. I do hope Liam takes after his mother in that sense and that none of my discrepant traits rub off on him.


	5. Months 8 and 9

**Months eight and nine**

**Week 30**

Our entire flat looks like a nursery...

Mary-Margaret organized some traditional event called "Baby Shower" for Emma. I am not really knowledgeable on the subject; all I know is that men were not allowed. So I spent the first half of that particular evening watching some odd sport called "Football" with Old Charming.

Now I'm not the savviest bloke when it comes to sports, really, but I still don't know what in blazes I was watching. I'll briefly try to elaborate: Two large groups of gargantuan looking men of all races and denominations wearing some bloody heavy matching armor (much like a tiny legion), ramming each other on a large court and running after an ovoid shaped gadget that they all seemed to covet. Must have been a battle to the death for the bloody thing, because they would stack up like piles of rocks in the woodland. Don't want to imagine the broken bones there. David seemed to be ecstatic and behaved much like a mandrill during this so called game. I was simply baffled. Good thing there were beers in the house.

Henry noticed my restlessness so after the "game" was done, he told me to come along on a "shopping" trek. He was always rather peculiar about my dress code, that one, so he sort of seemed elated when I didn't snarl at him and agreed to let go off my leathers for something slightly more becoming for Storybrooke.

Not negotiable were my trench coat and my kohl liner. Not... negotiable. But, the clothes in this realm are far more comfortable, I must say. I love the footwear. Still all in black. Won't have it any other way.

Upon returning home, Henry and I find what little manliness we might have conserved in our home has been entirely been replaced by baby swagger. I was about to complain to Swan, but the smile on her face... bloody hell, I just couldn't! She was so overwhelmed with all the goods her lady friends had given her that day, and I have to admit, I was glad for it. My child would be sufficiently well clad and nursed and fed with all of this. Kindly people of Storybrooke, I thank you.

Not to mention that after she was done showing me, she finally became aware of my attire. She smiled, broad, wide and be still my heart...

"Damn, you're a sight for sore eyes." She said. And I received a mild punch when I replied "I know..." But not two seconds later, I held her and said to her ear that no woman in this universe or any parallel realm had ever, ever looked as beautiful as she did this very moment.

As expected, she cried. And as expected, I held her. And as expected, I once again thank the heavens for the fact that Blackbeard is dead.

**Week 32**

We woke up early to get her to another ultrasound thing and we were marveled to know that our bairn-to-be has turned upside down and is fit as a fiddle. He looks bloody magnificent! Fingernails, hair, eyelashes and brows and all. Doctor said that between now and her time for term, we could be experiencing false alarms and contractions. Odd... I felt one myself when he said that. Sympathy pains, he called it, laughing rather unsympathetically. Swan laughed too. Yeah, bloody hilarious...

Time is drawing near. And sometimes I swear I can't breathe. But I won't be running from this... not now and not ever. If I could cross realms and times for this woman, I can certainly handle an infant. I hope.

Alas... My poor princess... She is in a state now. She can't sleep without a large pillow between her thighs, her entre back feels sore, she is short of breath (what with that gargantuan child floating around and pressing her lungs), gets heartburn all the time, goes toilet every five minutes and feels slightly swollen around her ankles. And no joke, she is. If she walks ten minutes, she aches... if she lays five minutes, she aches... if she sits five minutes, she aches... She aches the whole... bloody... time. Not to mention she can hardly sleep, has had a couple of them forewarned fake contractions that, as I could tell, hurt like bloody hell and sometimes takes two or three days to be able to potty. And all through this agony, she still glows, smiles and is mum to Henry, daughter to Snow and David and wife to me.

What a woman... she is still a bloody hero to me, I'd have begged for death by now! I admire and love her now more than ever. My brave, courageous Emma.

How did I ever get so lucky?

**Week 35**

Scheduled for next week. More contractions, more pain, far less glamour in all of this... event.

While she was being revised by her doctor, Henry and I sat outside, talking. He's elated to be having a brother and actually... he said that, since we're a proper family now, he asked if I would find it odd or uncomfortable if he called me Dad.

I had to swallow a large lump in my throat. I'm delighted and honored; I had promised Baelfire I'd do well by him and forever guard Emma and their boy, so this particular initiative on Henry's part has all but completely turned me from pirate to man. That's it. Hook is dead... or maybe not, I rather enjoy the moniker.

I can't believe this is actually taking place in my life.

**Week 36**

Very well... Just doodling a few words because the wife is screaming bloody murder and I must get bags and vehicle ready to take her to the bleeding hospital before she rips my heart out.

Gods know she can actually do it.

Will be writing after the deed is done. Must rush. Will be a father (again, considering Henry's thoughtful and caring decision to consider me as such) in a few hours and well... can't think straight.


	6. Day one of Liam's life

**Day one.**

I've started over. Not much point in writing month by month when my life has very much just been slated to start anew.

I feel anew. I am.

Yesterday morning, at oh-eight hundred and twenty two hours, I heard my son's primal scream and that sound alone swept through me like the sound of a thousand mermaids chanting my name, luring me into the ocean. I am in love once more...

Blast it, I've gotten so bloody emotional, it's hard to even write these lines.

Emma was admitted at eighteen hundred hours the day before. According to Dr. Whale (whom, I have to say, has finally earned my trust after the fete he pulled with my Swan), she had already started labor a few hours earlier but neither of us had quite realized so. After a few tests she finally got a room and continued to painfully endure the hours, minutes and seconds it took for her to be completely ready (they all kept talking about dilation; being a gentleman, I still rather blush, thinking of it, natural as it may be). Poor dear Swan. I held her hand as she huffed, breathed, inhaled, exhaled, wept, twisted, turned, screamed and settled, waiting for the pivotal moment when she would be deemed ready to start pushing.

Now, being from a completely different time and as much as I love my wife, where (and when) I come from, childbirth is a no-man matter; the wife is in one room, with a midwife or two to take care of the process and the father is notified of the arrival of the child after the deed is completed, so it could be said that being in the same room as Swan while she endured the process was awkward at very best. I still held her hand though the process (the scabs left by her nailmarks on my thumb are evidence to that; should have given her the hook to squeeze, instead), but even she realized that, given my particular rearing, it would probably be best that, once the process of birth started, it would be better for me to wait outside.

I heartily agreed.

By one in the morning, she was ready. The last I saw was how some bloody nurse put a hole in her spine and stuck some sort of device in it to inject a liquid that seemed to hurt more than the labor pains themselves, supposedly to "ease the pain". But when I saw her squint hard and scream the roof down, that's when I just quit. I unceremoniously exited the room, reached the nearest trash bin and, in the same fashion as my dear Swan in the early stages of her expectance, I regurgitated all I had merrily ingested hours earlier.

From then on, it was a long wait. Mary Margaret and Red were the ones to stand by her while the child was born, while David, Henry and myself sat around waiting. Charming and the boy exchanged words, played games and dabbled around in all sorts of nonsense; I, on the other hand, wished I hadn't forgotten my rum flask back home. I was desperate. At some point, David came to sit by me and reassured me that delivery in our day and time was very safe and that I should not worry... but again, my rearing had taught me differently. It was hard to overcome years of growth in places where one hears of three out of five women perishing during the perilous process of delivery.

I insist; only Rum is good for this sort of thing.

I used that time to ponder... ponder on all and everything the Swan and I have been through together. It made me grin to think of the first time I ever saw her, clad in those horrid blacksmith rags and with my hook hidden in my satchel, peering from beneath a pile of carcasses from Cora's earlier rampage. Cora had told me of her; how she and her gang of friends were seeking a portal to go back home, and she expressly wanted me to get close to her to find out about Storybrooke, because her daughter Regina dwelled there. I expected a fast and easy job; I truly didn't expect to be greeted by the face of an angel and the heart of a lion. And I certainly didn't expect her to outwit me! I will remember that beanstalk forever... how we exchanged words... and hearts. She didn't know it then and it's awfully likely I didn't, either, but I now believe that was the moment both of us knew we would, somehow, always gravitate around each other. I can actually place my finger on the exact moment I fell for her. It took me a while to come to that particular conclusion, but I believe that it was the moment we engaged in swashbuckling. Who knew a woman so fair could hold such a good form. I never intended to harm her (if I recall I even used the opportunity to try to seduce her, even then!); but she hit me hard, a solid upper cut. And I fell... but pretended to be down, if only to provide her with an opportunity from there on I never got her out of my mind. I also remember her drowning as she jumped ship during a storm in Neverland; How I held my breath, looking at her lying limp in her mother's arms, hoping, praying for her to inhale... and how overcome by relief I was when she finally did. From that moment on, I could not get my eyes off of her. It was also then that I decided I'd do right by her... privately, quietly, without expecting a thing in return... until the Echo Cave incident.

Which would have been far easier had her mother and father not been present. How does a lowly pirate openly say "I love you" to a princess in front of her hero progeny?

All the same, here we are now. I must have done something right. I have better done; my old lady really put me through the wringer before I finally, _FINALLY_ won her love. I can understand her apprehensions; She'd been hurt one too many times, a few of those by me. I even thought I might give up on her one day... I followed her back in time, I guided her through the Enchanted Forest, I (quite proudly) led her through her very first Ball Room Waltz, I held her, wiped her tears and most important, I helped her find her inner magic, which she had lost while saving MY sorry arse from drowning. I now thank Zelena for that sudden immersion and making me drown... I believe that precise moment was the instant Swan finally realized she wanted me in her life. She told me so later... she wouldn't have known what to do with herself, had I died.

Right around that second, Mary Margaret burst out into the room, smiling, bawling, being her usual princessy self, and looked at all of us in turns. "He's here!"

Through the doors I heard him cry. It hit me like a fresh gust of wind in an open ocean and I cried with him as I turned to David with a very uncharacteristic sudden hug. Now Charming is a bloody prince; he is as sentimental as a five year old lass, but at that moment, I appreciated his comradeire as he hugged me hard. "You're a dad, man!" He said. "Welcome aboard..."

I hadn't heard those words since my Jolly Roger days.

We followed Snow into the room. My love looked like the very life had been drained out of her; her golden-as-the-sun strands of hair sticking to her forehead with sweat... But the smile on her face... and the tears of joy... and the little one... bloody hell, there he was!

I gulped. How would I ever hold him, with a hook instead of a hand?

She looked at me and bit her lip. "He looks just like you..." She whispered.

I finally peeked over and saw the babe in her arms; he indeed had a brush of black hair atop his wee head and he was just starting to settle down in Emma's embrace. In a sudden blow I understood so much about meself, my life and the world around me. Both Emma and I know what it is to be left alone, to lose hope, to have to fight to be on your feet, to squander opportunities and to embrace them when they return, to make mistakes and to work beyond all possibility of success to mend them. And looking at his little face I suddenly knew that this was one opportunity I would never fail at: Giving this little one all Emma and I deserved to have. Not riches, perhaps (unless my love would want to return to live as the princess she is in the Enchanted Forest which I gather is not a plan in her particular planner), but love. Lots and lots of love.

How could we not? Little fella was bloody beautiful!

I stood, bending over my love's side, smiling at my wee son and repeatedly kissing Emma's head, telling her how brilliant, how bloody magnificent and wonderful she was, when Mary Margaret took the little one and walked around the bed, staring intently at me. "Better learn to hold him right..." She said.

I held my breath. How could I hold him with the bloody hook? I promptly removed it and placed it by Emma's side and tried to accommodate the babe in my arms...

Bloody hell... I just don't have words for this. I don't. At least not enough to adequately convey what that feels like. Nothing I can think of can measure up to this particular feeling, of holding your newborn child in your arms. Nothing at all. I won't even go there, except for the notion that it is something that can and does change a man's life. It's simply the biggest magic that there ever was or ever will be... the magic of true love.

It took at least five hours of me bawling like an old maid for me to come to terms with this new orchestration of my life with Swan and Henry. Few people if any have ever witnessed Captain Hook fall completely at the seams like this. But the appreciation I received was all too gratifying... especially when a tall, dashing Prince and future king not only shares that particular trait but is in equal disarray. Bloody David, I knew I'd win him over sometime!

All the same, I still can't think straight... Our gorgeous son, Liam James Jones (the James bit was a last minute cry from Swan... to honor her father's faux name, whilst still being a prince as opposed to David the sodding shepherd boy), was born at 19.76 inches, weighing a healthy 7 pounds and 8 ounces, has dark hair and remarkably long limbs, like his mother and screams louder than a banshee. It's early still to say who he will look like the most, but I can already tell he is one devilishly handsome little rogue.

I will write further into this log every other week. For now, I am far too thrilled to commit any further thought to print without causing the ink to run from the pathetic gushing of my eyes.


	7. Day eight of Liam's life

**Day eight.**

Been one whole week since Liam came to be. This parenting thing, I'm afraid, is a full-time assignment; I am either catering after the Swan's every need (which I truly don't mind since she not only saved my life but made me a father too) or doing dad-duty. Henry's a big hand (good thing since I only got one to begin with); what a good lad he's turning out to be, that one! He fuzzes over Liam (don't we all) and has actually stated that he will become the next great hero of the town.

If he's anything like his mum, he will be!

Last evening David and Snow brought wee Neal to meet his baby nephew. That in itself is slightly odd; Neal is but a babe himself, barely reaching two in a few months, and lo, he is an uncle! (Does that technically mean that even if they are closer to cousinship, the Prince might just have authority over my boy for sheer ownership of title and family hierarchy? Sod it. They're both children.) He seemed enthralled, the little prince, looking at a much smaller babe, and then tried to poke his eye. Harmless enough; I suppose all sucklings under the age of proper reason feel the need to clutch and touch and poke and prod and my very young brother-in-law is clearly no exception, even if he is a bona-fide prince. Snow curved that particular desire and kindly instructed her young son to caress and kiss rather than fondle or poke, and gentle "Charming" soul that he is, Neal proceeded to stroke the little one's hand gently. Emma looked pleased. Henry took an amazing... what are they called, _photograph_, is it? ("No magic" my arse, how else does one explain the stilling of time, freezing the likeness of people in an exact moment on some puny screen?) Well, he took one of those of the very instant when Emma´s wee brother actually gave his young nephew a kiss on the head. Ha! Little bugger looks so much like his bloody father, the poor helpless sod!

If someone had told me three years ago that this would be my life today, I'd have laughed in his face and told him to bugger off.

It's been a bloody great feeling, fathering that little one... Emma didn't know I could sing (I trait I carry oh so well, actually) and has actually given me the task of singing Liam to sleep a couple of times. Bloody marvelous, especially since her singing would very likely give the boy nightmares. There may be a million things Swan can do, but singing is definitely not one of them. I also helped with the bathing... Now here I can't really be left alone with the task; A small, soaped, slippery babe and a one handed father are really not a fine combination, so Henry and Emma helped. They left the soaping and shampooing to me while Emma held him steady in the tub. Henry did the rinsing. Bloody great! And from the looks of it, the wee lad loves water.

Yet another water- fond Jones! I... couldn´t ... be ... prouder.

The lad is a precious one; he allows his parents to sleep through the night, a fete my dear mother-in-law did not enjoy with Prince Neal. But Liam will wake invariably around oh-six hundred, screaming for his mother. Since (like most sailors) I am up before the dawn (unless I'm suffering from a hangover which I can't really do until my son is old enough to vote now, apparently), it is my task to collect the bairn, take him to Emma and just watch in awe. There is nothing more inspiring than watching that particular moment... It really is like seeing a mother and her son spiritually bonding... even if poor Emma is only partially awake then and will very likely sleep while the wee one enjoys breakfast. Once that is done, Swan flops back in bed and resumes her snoring. Yes, she snores... like a troll, at times. She will deny it. But she snores. And I collect Liam, kiss his little face (the boy tickles because of my beard and always makes an adorable wince that has me smiling through the day) and place him back in his bassonette, where he resumes his slumber till, say, mid day.

But the supplanting of dirty nappies... Flaming hell.

How could one small, adorable little boy make such an unbelievably foul, frightful produce? Swan takes care of that. I play the "Only got one hand, love" card on that one. I love my son beyond reason, but I do have my limits. In fact, I'll just evade that topic hereon, before I do become sick.

His eyes are blue, by the way. We finally saw them well. Swan was right, he looks like me. Now we have two devilishly handsome chaps in the family! Wait, make that three with Henry, to honor his late father, whom I also loved almost as one of my own (here's to you mate, every time!). Not to mention the (if I do say so myself) incomparable fairness and inner fire that is Emma Swan. Even if she is (legally) Jones now, she still is and always will be Emma Swan. There is not a blasted thing in this universe that could tie her to me or anyone; she's a relentless, fierce fire that drew this wicked old fly to her like a beacon and it's precisely that untamable soul of hers that drives me crazy beyond all reason and accountability. For her, I'll not just sail across oceans, but parallel realms; I'd kill and quite gladly die... For her I gave up what had been, till I met her, my only home, my commodity and my life: The Jolly Roger. Alas, I have nothing to pass down to my sons, except my heart, a changed heart. I hope they will forgive their pirate father for his lack of vision, but alas, for now it is all I can give.

Must leave; lullaby time. Better get things done before Emma tries to sing herself and gives the innocuous infant a reason to wail again. We will see when I get another window of opportunity to continue jotting down this log. Time runs scarcer and scarcer these days...

**Footnote:** Why do I keep thinking about what Blackbeard would say if he heard me talking to my little son? My funny, high-pitched tone of voice, my singing, my cleaning up after the child regurgitates all over me? The bastard's bloody dead!


	8. The first month and a half

**The first month and a half**

New villain in town... but I won't get into that till I'm done with all the more jocose and obliging part of my life, so first things first.

I think it is quite safe to say now that that little tike holds my heart in his tiny little hand. He does. Turns out he indeed sports his father's eyes (I would have loved to see Emma's emerald greens as well, but he didn't fair badly now, with my eyes, did he?). Snow, however, says that his features are Emma's. So, all in all, and as I had quite cleverly foreseen, the boy has got the best of both his mother and father. There was no losing, now. He'll break a lot of hearts.

Little pirate.

Like I wrote before, he's bloody brilliant, especially at night, basically because he sleeps through it, so while Emma and I are rolling around by our business (yes, we actually are back in business), he never even makes a peep. Good lad. And speaking of our_ business_, it has taken me quite a lot of verbal effort to persuade Swan to allow herself back into that arena... she felt she had sort of lost her fit appearance, which of course was utter nonsense... if anything, she's far more beautiful now if that is even possible. She made me a father, bloody hell, how could she even...? All the same, I do believe she had also missed that particular feature of our love so after a few go's, she and I were going for it like in the old days.

And I have to say, I am glad, glad, glad to be back in business. What utter relief. Had I held another month I'd have probably gone barkers.

Liam actually smiles now. Only a month and he turns to look in my general direction when I speak his name. I walked through the room one day, after his lovely mum had bathed him, and simply sang out his name: "Liaaaaam!"

He smiled. I cried.

Blackbeard be gone from my mind.

What's even more marvelous about this is that he can even tell who his mother and father are! He pursues our voices with his peepers. And when he does, he actually gazes into our own eyes. I swear, not a day goes by that I don't discover something new about him. Those gazes can utterly make the boldest knight's knees weaken and make him fall into a self-made heap of feebleness. That's quite what happens to me.

Henry made a small hook for him. Not joking! He did. He has a smithing craft class at school and he thought it would be hilarious to make him a very small (and of course, blunt) version of my hook brace. I was over the moon but my dear lady nearly had a heart attack and demanded he remove the thing and I act firmly. So I did: I put my now parental authority to use and told Henry it was bad form to induct the child into such a world (and then I winked at him, poor lad. I saved the brace... I had Henry take one photograph of him when Swan wasn't looking...I insist that photographs are a thing of magic) and continued to pretend I had gotten rid of the blasted, adorable little pirate's hook. Ahh, my little pirate boys!

And then came the crises...

One morning, I wake to his dawning hollers and find him to be breathing rather oddly. I take him over to Emma, who (as always) has a hard time waking from her slumber. My persistence brings her about and when she takes over she wakens suddenly and realizes our son has a bad fever. Now I had been through many a dire strait before, but I can't say I had ever been as scared as I was that morning. The boy could hardly breathe without making horrid, gargling sounds.

But what drove both of us over the edge was the fact that, when she took him to her bosom, the child would not eat. He cried steadily and so did we. We instantly clad ourselves with our clothing, and without further a due, we drove to the hospital. Halfway there, he stopped crying and for an instant, I turned and found him to be very still. We panicked. Swan pulled over and frantically reached for our boy... He lived, of course, but had fallen into a deep sleep from the relentless fever, and things were really not looking up for any of us. And then... Swan kissed his little head, tars in her eyes and hands shaking; there was a luminous energy that fired out from the point where her lips touched his skin... and the lad was suddenly fine. His breathing became normal again and now he was just sleeping soundly.

The savior indeed; apparently, only the Dark One had the magical skill to heal. But after consulting with him, he claimed that, much as he is the world's most powerful dark wizard, Emma was clearly the balancing weight, only with light magic, which also gave her the gift of healing. She was more than just a little bit surprised, especially since she hadn't done a lot of practicing since her gravidity first became known to us.

Needless to say, we went home and slept for hours. All of us. Except Henry who had missed the miraculous mischance and was quite ready to go to his educational settlement. Alas, the boy walked himself to the bus stop.

The next day he and I went for a long bloody day out, to compensate for his patience and nurturing heart. I cannot deny Henry has grown on me quite fathomlessly. He is quite the spitting image of his birthfather and also has his stout spirit; and his unyielding faith in people's potential for kindness he gets from his beautiful mother. He has a way of seeing the good in people who apparently cannot be redeemed. During our outing we sat in the park, eating an ice cream (I've become quite fond of those, especially the chocolate one... bloody hell, where had I lived all these years?) and he said that he had always thought I'd be good for his old lady. That caught me by surprise. He really is an insightful young sir. And since he calls me "dad" (which I quite enjoy, as it happens), I try my best to be as close to the hero Bae was as I can be. Those are big shoes to fill, and even when Henry does not consider it necessary for me to add that extra lick of effort, I do. I swear these Swans are bringing out the best in me. And I can't thank them enough... or love them enough.

This has not been easy sailing. But in the end, this is all worth every small or vast amount of woe it may have contained within. The waters may be choppy, but my ship, my family, is sailing as smooth as a vessel on a lakebed. I got me two boys, one lovely wife and (hopefully) in the furure we might set out for the little lady. Now THAT would make my life complete and I can honestly assert I would want not a thing more.

I have never been happier.

We will see what time holds for us ahead. For now, Swan and the crew have sort of noticed oddities in the town. Apparently, there is some sort of new malfeasant called The White Witch (like the green one hadn't been enough) from some unknown realm called Narnia (Henry knew of it well enough and, as it was expected, it was he who made heads from tails as to her derivation; resourceful boy!), who apparently, and quite in the style of our very own Elsa, has a thing for all things cold and sort of... likes little children to do her evildoings. Now, being a hero back when the Swan and I were single was adventurous enough, but having little ones makes this even more frightening.

I'll have to dust the cobwebs from my sword, I gather... That witch will not be laying a finger on any town resident... or on anyone in my family, be that the Charmings, Henry, my swan or my wee Liam.


	9. The fourth month

**The fourth month**

I am terrified and honestly too ashamed to admit it. We have been through so many things before, but cowering away in what used to be Zelena's storm cellar is far from the ideal any honorable man has of providing adequate shelter for his family. My fear is not in regards to the evil we fight today... I fear for my loves. This place is dank, humid and cold, not safe for my beautiful little boy by any standard, but far safer than what was our apartment, or any other property in the inner side of downtown Storybrooke.

If we thought Zelena was a formidable foe, this woman has to be the source of all evil.

Turns out the new foe's name is Jadis; She's a queen witch of another realm, one that, unlike my birthplace and the other realms, is easily traversed into through a wardrobe. The problem is, nobody knows where the bloody thing is and this frosty wench just turned Storybrooke into an ice cap. People are missing again and we normally find them around the corners, in the shape of stonecold statues.

Alas... my Emma saw her parents take such form.

We do hope that when we beat this new villain, they will revert, or I don't know what will become of my Swan's heart. In the meantime, we are looking after little Neal for them. Being the caring parents they are, they had us hide him and tried to reach shelter outside of Storybrooke, but sadly didn't make it: True to their loving fashion, David held his wife in his arms, covering her head with one hand and her body with the other, and hiding his face in her neck.

When we found them, it took me roughly four hours to get Swan to calm down enough to talk. She wept steadily that day and I felt helpless and a lesser man until she finally granted me a sad smile... but a smile nonetheless... and said "I don't know where I'd be without you and the boys, Killian...". I simply held her in my arms and wept with her, shared her burden. What else was there for me to do? Swords and cleverness are no match for the hailing breath of a sorceress whose only purpose is to eternally maintain the world around her frozen under the cold confines of her soulless heart.

I swear sometimes I feel so helpless... it aches my heart to see her fall apart, to see those beautiful green eyes sparkle, not with joy but with tears. I detest having to wipe those crystal liquid drops from her face and know that there is little else I can do at times other than to just hold her, love her and try to reassure her things will work out well, even when I myself have no assurance as to the veracity of my words. But I remian at her side, and that's what counts... being together. I'll fight for that till my dying breath, if need be.

And of course, this wretched, flatigious villain is mainly after the Royals to take over this realm as her own, so Regina is also in her sights; The Queen she's not here with us as of this time, so in spite of her resentment against Emma (it was an honest mistake and the darling woman meant well, for pity's sake...), we are concerned; especially Henry.

Anyone of royal blood is a target to her. That would also include Swan, Henry, Liam and Neal... and her taking them from me would be to rip my very heart and crush it.

So I'm currently the cowering husband of the village hero, who, alas, has also no clue as to how to defeat this injurious ice demon. My Emma is so burdened by her frozen parents that she has lost a little bit of faith in herself, something that ocurrs to her on ocassion but that can prove catastrophic to the use of her magic which, I know, could very well be the answer to everything. I, however, have not and will not ever lose faith in her; she is and always will be the savior and she'd sooner remember this, or we are all doomed. As always, only she can beat her and it is my duty to remind her of her inner strength and fire.

For the time being, I pray we're safe. Cold, hungry and with slightly broken spirits, but alive.

Liam has quite likely doubled in size and even when I fear for Emma's well-being, the only source of guaranteed food we have for our little boy is through her milk. Alas, my bride is thinning and we have few supplies left. We scarcely eat ourselves! It is dangerous to go looking for food during daytime, so at night we move around, raiding what used to be Storybrooke's main supermarket. So that is my main task... and much as I hate it, Henry's too. Stout lad that he is, he offered to join me in the night hunts for supplies. It kills my Swan every time, but even if she is the savior, someone has to remain and look after the little ones. The last thing I ever want to see is my precious loves turned into icy stone, to feel the sudden ripping of my very breath like she did, looking at the Charmings like they were some sort of museum piece... I have to say, even I felt broken hearted at the sight. David is my mate now, probably my only mate.

But in these dire times, we find a modicum of joy in our boys and the little attaché that is my wee brother in law. He will be well taken care of by us until his mother and father are back with us.

Liam has somehow learned to coo. He coos night and day and has turned out to be quite a talkative little chap. Not to mention he laughs all the time and at anything, which is wonderful and a much needed source of merriment! I can sort of fake nibble his little stomach and he'll have a giggling bout that will make all of us have bouts; whereas the sound of the waves crashing against the keel and hull of the Jolly Roger was once my favorite sound, it is now the sound of my four month old son's laughter that steals my heart and brings unparalleled joy to it. As for the babbling, Neal keeps him busy with that and gods know what they ramble about. Sometimes, the chats end up in tears when Liam grabs hold of Neal's hair and gives his uncle's tresses a solid tug. The lad is strong, I tell you, he took a hold of my earring the other day and were it not for the loose pin that holds it in place, he might have easily torn through my flesh with a single tug. All the same, it bled... Strapping young scoundrel! Why do I love you so, Liam Jones?

We're also at that stage where we have to be overly mindful of the things that go into his mouth, and that is just about everything: Buttons, hair, dirt, coins, keys, quills, his mother's sheriff badge... I swear the child is a beast when it comes to retrieving objects from any given surface available to him! Anything, he will pop it into his mouth. We have enough with a conniving witch to also be on the lookout for our little slot machine.

Oh to be a child! The blessed babes know little of the events that unfold in their wake and it is my only wish it remain so. I pray I am man enough to maintain isuch illusion so that neither they nor my lovely wife see their days shortened by the frost; Elsa's deeds were the result of her incapacity to control an otherwise odd gift, but her heart was not dark... But the baseness and injurious misery of this woman is beyond all conceievable evil I have ever witnessed; she simply wishes to submit us all to joining a kingdom of frozen statues.

And much as I will fight to prevent our demise, if it comes to us being submitted to slavery, I'd sooner pray for swift, painless death. Alas, please let my loves live!

Little Neal actually volunteers to clean up Liam's nappies with Emma. I swear that that little lad is as mellow and tender as little lads come; his mother's son with his father's unfortunate looks (I must remember to remind him that once he is once again not made of ice). I have somewhat lost the nauseating reaction to that as well, along the way, whereas before I was frantically unable to even approach the little one when his mother undertook that particular side of the job. Like in piracy, the first theft is the worst and after that, it's all child's play. Who would have known that years and years of living the life of a rapscallion would completely ready me to become Killian Jones, the captain of soiled nappies?

Henry seems to think he knows the answer to the White Witch problem: but claims he and I must undertake a secret quest to find Regina, who must come hither and transform my lovely wife into... a lioness? The boy believes it is a gargantuan lion that beats this witch, a Lion that embodies all that is good and warm, the sun, the harvest... the loving heart of the savior. According to the tale he knows, it is that lion that overcomes this endless cold, and that but a breath from her will bring back to life all frozen people of Storybrooke.

Sounds like the savior to me.

I hate to lie to my Emma, or to conceal the truth from her; this sort of secrecy has, in the past, driven wedges in her trust in me... but if the boy is right and this is the way to defeat the White witch, I'd sooner do good by her and risk her anger, and join the lad in the quest for Regina. I do understand that things are still not completely mended after the Swan's noble error to return Marion into Robin's arms, but if the Queen has not yet been transformed into stalactite, she is bound to desire regaining control of the town she mayors. Hence, I believe she will cooperate; if not for Emma or my baby boy or even the Charmings who stand sadly frozen, she will do it for Henry.

Brave boy...

This is the way this family always worked; by the instances of this valiant young man. With a soul like his, there is always hope. I trust that, in time, he too will show what he trully is capable of; after all, he is Swan's boy, and his paternal heritage is... well, Rumplestilskin's. Much as I may have despised the crocodile in my past years I must admit to the reckoning force of his magic. The time will come for Henry, when he grows to be a man. For now, I must prepare myself and protect him to the best of my skill; at night, my young teen son and I will embark in a live or die mission. With any luck, I'll get to bring Regina over by myself and not let Henry risk his precious young life. After all, should I get caught by this ice minx and get frozen, at least he, his sibling, uncle and mother will live to fight another day.

Now he wants me to keep mum about it and calls it "Operation Frosty Cat". I swear, that lad...


	10. The fifth month

**The fifth month.**

I'm gladdened to say we made it. As a matter of fact, I am delirious beyond all expectation. Especially in view that I was close, so so close, to becoming a widower this past week. The notion of being without my light, my beacon, my Swan, even if all is well now, just makes my blood curdle and my eyes water. Thinking that I might have to be in charge of raising my sons without their beloved mother at my side is a frightening concept and I truly hope I never, ever again have to experience that feeling, especially since I know myself well enough to know that odds are I'd probably spin down into a black hole of piracy and anger... and I'd probably raise two pirates as opposed to two wonderful men.

And since I never, ever again wish to ever speak of the subject again, I will unburden my heart by jotting the anecdote down in here and have done with it once and for all.

"Operation Frosty Cat" started one evening after Emma and the two darling babes had settled for a nap. Like any other night, Henry and I seemed to set out for sustenance; however, our goal was to find Regina. The cold outside was enough to chill the bone of even the bravest man, but still we soldiered on, carefully, slowly, and with hopes of not being seen by any of the Witch's guardsmen, who were unpredictably patrolling Storybrooke in search for any possible sign of an uprising.

We managed to reach her house... And found her to be another ice statue behind her desk.

How I wish Henry had never seen that. I held him to me as he sobbed, unable to do anything else but that. The only hope, I now knew, was Emma herself. So, since she would not be needing her supplies, Henry and I emptied Regina's icebox (amazing gadgets, those...) and returned to our sheltered makeshift home. I could hear Red howling in the distance and wondered whether or not she too might be needing shelter. Finding a friend in these dire circumstances was a welcoming thought, so Henry and I detoured slightly, following the gloomy sound of Red's wolven cries amidst the iced landscape.

My thoughts were focused on my family, the whole time. "Must get this done, think of Liam, think of wee Neil, think of the young boy about to become a man who follows your every step... think of your love, Killian...", was my motivational inner discourse.

We found Red in her wolf form; her red cape was nowhere to be seen. But she knew us well enough to silently follow us back to our den. One more life saved! (Perhaps I did have some hero in me, after all?)

Once we were back, Emma was frantic, but she mellowed out when Henry collapsed in her arms, crying over Regina. As I expected, she was fairly livid that we had gone so far, but was also relieved to see red was still alive and that we had brought enough food to hide for at least a week.

All was well... or at least as well as it could be, considering our boy had just sort of lost his adoptive mother and he too, had started to lose hope. Now THAT was something we could not have. Henry, the truest believer, was faltering. His little heart was too burdened.

So... it was up to me.

I spoke to Emma of the boy's plan. I told her about the legend of the Lion Ruler _Aslan_, who was to defeat the witch and reclaim his lands... the savior. Emma didn't quite know what to do, but as always, I stood by her side, telling her just how powerful and strong she really could be. It took a while for her to conjure up enough faith in herself, though my words... but once she got started, she glowed. She looked like an angel, a white halo of powered light shining through her every pore and follicle.

How in the world did this creation of all the gods in all the realms wind up marrying a scruffy old pirate such as I? I thought I was dashing and debonair, but... bloody hell.

I didn't expect her to completely transform into a Lion as such... I had always known it would probably refer to a metaphor. She regained her inner strength, then turned to me, confident, brave and beautiful, and kissed me: "Take care of the boys. I'm gonna take that frosty bitch down.", she asserted, before running her hand through my hair with a faint grin marked on the corners of her perfect, pink lips. "I love you so much..."

"You can do this, my love..." I said to her. "I have faith in you. I love you."

"We all do." Henry quipped with a smile.

So, after hugging and kissing her two sons and little brother and giving me a soft, loving kiss, up the stairs and out the shelter door she went. And I felt a knot in my throat and a rock-heavy heart.

Normally, I'd follow her; my heart has the strange impulse of tracing her every step, guarding her back and being there to take a bullet, arrow or sword for her, if need be. But the boys needed to be looked after. Liam was in dire need of a bath, so with Henry's assistance, we got that done before moving on to Neal. After that and once the babes were sleeping (might I add I simply love watching them sleep; I do feel a tad envious of babes when they are deep in slumber). I lay beside them, but unlike my boys, I did not sleep.

Hours passed and Emma did not return.

Then there was a sudden shudder, a seismic shattering of sounds. we jolted awake and looked around. I swiftly ran to the corner, grabbed my sword and leather trench coat and turned to Henry. "You're to be a man soon, lad." I asserted. "I charge you with looking after your brother and uncle. I must go help your mother."

Henry nodded. "Please... don't let me lose her too!"

I knelt before him and grabbed his shoulder. "I shan't return with bad tidings, Henry. Be strong, m'boy." I smiled, hugged him and kissed his head, before turning to my infant child, holding him, kissing him and swallowing the tears that threatened hard to emerge. I also looked at Neal. "I'll find your mother and father and we will get them back, little one. I promise." I looked at Red, curled up in a ball on the floor corner and she raised her furry head, her beady canine eyes glaring into my own. "Please... Look after my children..." I begged. I could swear she nodded before laying back down.

So, out I went.

I was greeted by a vision of power beyond anything my wildest imagination could have ever conjured. My Emma was glowing with an orange reddish aura of fire, her hands held out and a light of energy shooting through them. The Witch was floating in the air, held inside a bright and hot bubble that my love was conjuring. She certainly didn't look too happy.

"KILLIAN! GRAB HER WAND!" Emma shouted at me amidst the noise and fire.

I looked around and saw that, indeed, the witch had dropped a wand that looked more like a walking cane. I ran, took it in my hand and turned to Swan for further instructions. "AIM AT HER!"

So I aimed.

The wand itself fired an icy beam that matched Emma's fiery energy; the wind twirled and twisted in the air. I could feel the kick of power from the wand as it blasted the frosty light into her and both Emma and I had a hard time maintaining our footing on the ground. The wand was burning my hand; I am not a magical being myself, but I held on. I'd sooner lose my other hand than to leave Emma alone in this fight. And then, up in the air, the witch suddenly screamed a powerful holler, like some sort of banshee, and the containment bubble Emma had her in exploded with the force of a thousand suns. Both my love and I were blasted backwards; as I landed on the floor, I immediately conjured the strength to immediately try to find Emma, raising my head to find her. This time, she was up in the air, the witch, holding her with the final lick of power she had. It was plain to see the witch was weakening quickly and was trying to regain her strength by drawing it from my Swan.

I do not know what strange power love can build into the heart of a man, but out of nowhere, I found myself standing and running. I reached for my sword and, in one swift movement, I felt the blade slice the witch's head.

I had not beheaded a person since my pirate days, before Neverland.

The woman literally exploded in light and I saw my wife fall from the air into the snow. There was no remain of the witch. The fight had been won. But Emma was not moving.

I ran to her and turned her to me, holding her in my arms. She was pale, drawn and her lips were purple. I held her in my arm and touched her face; it was cold... and worse still, my love was not breathing.

"No, no, no..." I felt myself whisper, touching her neck for a pulse. I felt my heart shrink when I was unable to find a trace of her heartbeat. I caressed her face, shook her, called her name...

She was gone... the witch had drained my love of her very life and when I beheaded her, that energy had apparently squandered.

I hated myself terribly, as I held my dear Emma in my arms. I felt the tears come and this time I made no attempt at stopping them. So beautiful even lifeless. I sank my face in her neck, repeatedly saying "no" as I wept amidst the snowed lanscape. The witch was gone... but the frozen curse was not. I had failed them all: I had failed Henry, I had failed the Charmings, I had failed Regina and everyone else in this town. I had failed my infant son, who now was sans a mother and I had failed Neal, whose parents remained two ice figures... and I had failed my Emma, whose lifeless body I now held in my useless arms.

Weeping, I held her face to me. How I wished for her to suddenly open her eyes, her beautiful green eyes, so that she would look at me and grin that knowing grin I loved. But she was still. Cold and still. I begged her forgiveness for my complete failure to protect her from the clutches of death and for not having taken the wrath of the witch myself.

I must have cradled her there, weeping, for at least an hour, when my eyes had finally depleted the tears I had. I looked at her once more, and cleared the hair from her pale face as sniffed. "Wait for me, my love..." I whispered, and leaned in to kiss her lips farewell.

I should have done just that sooner. A colorful halo, like an expanding rainbow, swept the town from my kiss... and she jolted awake, gasping for air. The excess snow and frost melted away and all was... well, snow and frost, but within Storybrooke normalcy. I stared expectantly at her face, not daring to move in fear of breaking this wonderful spell or waking from a beautiful dream. As per my wish, she blinked in my direction and smiled, reaching out to touch my face.

"Who would have thought... the hero of the day." She whispered, her smile adorning her once again rosy facade.

"Emma..." I smiled back, my face still damp, and I kissed her again, amidst my own hysterical laughing and weeping.

As it turns out (and as per her very own planned design), when I aimed the Witch's staff at her, Emma channeled her energy into me, so when Jadis tried to drain Swan, she had no energy in her. Hence I was able to behead her with ease... I had all of my Emma's strength in me, and in kissing her, I returned her power to her.

Crafty woman. Nearly killed me of heartache, but crafty and clever and beautiful and the still living love of my life. The reunion with our sons was... well, beyond words.

So I hadn't just NOT failed... as it turns out, I was the bloody hero of the town!

We left the storm cellar and went home. I have never been one to take compliments gracefully, but when the Charmings (who were not only grateful for being defrosted but also extended their gratitude to out catering for their wee boy) heard of what occurred, they instantly arranged for a toast in my honor at Granny's. Regina simply snapped her fingers and had everything set up in a second.

I don't see any of this as an act of heroism, really... merely something any able man would do to save his family from danger... but apparently everyone seemed to agree that I was the bleeding hero of the day. They all toasted in my honor and I felt all the more embarrassed by the seven dwarfs singing "for he's a jolly good fellow"... still, I remained silently grinning, accepting the honor. The joy of the people was unwavering and who was I to turn down their gift to me? So I sat, had a few beers (which I had direly missed) and enjoyed the fact that the bloody Witch was gone for good.

My greatest gift was having Emma back in my arms, my young brother in law safely back with his mother and father and my two sons safely alive.

Having narrated that, I wish to never again engage in discourse regarding that particular blasted moment... even if Emma insists I'll have to regularly visit that old cricket for counseling. And given my nightmares, I might just do that.

My Liam is resilient to cold, it seems. He never even suffered cold or hunger during this ordeal. The little bugger now makes it perfectly clear when he's hungry, happy, sleepy, upset, or simply bored out of his wee mind. He's able to sit upright and hold his little arms out to be held. Apparently, his favorite person for that is his older brother and Henry caters to his every baby whim.

He recently started to feed himself too... or something like it. Since he is now able to eat things the likes of mashing and all other varieties of foods that look really quite unappetizing; but since Emma had the pleasure of the first months, feeding the boy has become my task... my rather messy task. It is apparently hilarious to my missus and my older boy whenever Liam slams his spoon into the bowl and freckles my face with apple custard or peas pudding. Of course, regurgitation is part of the feeding charm. He ruined a good shirt that had been with me since my younger days and I was sad to part with it. But still, after every (messy) meal, I pick him up and burp him before (as always) singing him to sleep. I still don't allow Emma to undertake such task... She's beautiful, smart, powerful and the savior... but she still can't sing her way out of a paper bag.

My boy is a complete beauty, if I do say so myself. Everyone in town says so. he's not one to cower from people, either. He'll hold his arms out to anyone who offers, will smile, giggle and, of course, pull their hair accordingly. He has his ways of showing his appreciation. I once did tell him, baby mode, that he was a handsome old devil... "You're a handsome devil! Eh? who's a handsome devil?" He smiled and laughed.

The devilishly handsome Jones's... alas, what can we do? It's the way we're made!

Also, he's starting to mimic sounds. My personal favorite is the sound of his mum snoring. Emma doesn't quite know how to feel about that one. But for the most part, it's other little petty sounds; for instance, we show him an image of a dog and he immediately goes "aw, aw, aw", or mews, neighs, any sound he hears he tries to recreate. Henry said once that all pirate needs a parrot and that I may have finally acquired my very own. Alas, I was never one for having a massive bird on my shoulder and piles of shite and feathers dripping down my back, so for the time being, I'll settle for the joy of hearing Liam's endless babbling and imitating.

It is also a thing of beauty when he first starts calling me _papa_. He started with Emma; endless hours of _ma ma ma ma ma ma_... and after my own persistence (I was rather a nusiance, I must say), the boy finally enunciated Papa... I tell anyone, my heart melted.

It is great to finally be at peace after this last battle... I know there will always be someone or something arriving in this town to wreak unwanted havoc in our lives, but being together is the key to surviving all.

We will see how this lovely little young man continues to flourish here... For now, I am delighted with my boys and I am sure Bae would pat me in the back for the work I've done with Henry. As for Emma? Well, what can I say? I married the savior and she continues to save me every bloody day.

We will see...


	11. First birthday

So this is life… real life.

Our Liam celebrated his first birthday. Been a year. Solid and fast and lovely in every way, even with the whole three month ordeal of the White Witch, and I can't say I've regretted any of the things I've done to get to this point.

Not to mention Emma and I are pregnant all over again. Delighted! We're praying for a wee lass this time. We're back to the initial process of regurgitating in the early light of morn... back to cravings, mood swings and Emma looking radiant and beautiful. Not that she doesn't always... but she does expel a certain aura of beauty when she's expectant.

As Liam's gone on growing and growing, I get less and less opportunities to sit and write, hence I've delayed so much in updating since my last entry seven bloody months ago. So much has transpired since!

The little lad is rather chatty and does get a few words across. Emma nearly threw a shoe at me when he echoed a perfectly good sounding "bloody hell". Henry and I thought it precious. Emma? Not so much. But now there's no stopping him. And the moment he figured out who he was (Henry presented him with a mirror) it is my guess he figured out just how much of a handsome little devil he is. I could swear he uses it to his advantage... makes the ladies melt. Ruby remembered the time she was with us sin the storm cellar and has officially become our baby sitter when the Swan and I require some alone time, something that also suits Henry quite well ; lad has a bad crush on her, I know it; only fair, he is almost fourteen, I'd be worried if he didn't! Speaking of which, we did have a man-to-man chat regarding the ladies. Seems the young man's appeal has increased, being the son of a princess and of course, one dashing young gentleman. I keep answering phone calls from Tina, Louise., Barbara, Caroline, Elizabeth, Jessica and there's a Mildred there somewhere, I'm quite sure... and they always leave a message because he's probably out with Kelly, Jennifer or Paula. Emma was concerned he might be a little too... precocious; Regina seconded that particular petition. So I offered to take him out and have a chat.

To make a long story short, the one thing I was able to do was to tell him to be careful and if he was to start on any funny business to come to me immediately so I could provide him with that necessary protection this realm has to offer which, if I do say so myself, is quite wonderful and a great window of opportunity should the realms ever be completely open to one another. I am sure many in the Enchanted forest would be delighted with the concept of a condom. Naturally, there are some things a lady like his mother can't hear about. So it's between us men. I doubt he'll get into that at this point, but I was merely fourteen myself when I got started, so it's a toss of a coin to tell. Better safe than sorry. The lad seemed pleased enough with me keeping his intimate secrets safe. It's only good form between gentlemen.

I hold a certain sense of pride in that... it's what a father should do.

Liam fell ill again, nothing too terrible, but a flu that caught on and soon enough, the entire Jones household was quarantined. I swear I had never felt as sick as that in my entire life, and that's a lot of years to take into account. The image of all of us slumped around on couches and beds, coughing, wheezing, sneezing and feverish, is really quite pathetic. All the same, we healed soon enough. Emma claims it's actually a bug, not visible to the naked eye, that causes these ailments; last I had heard, the flu was little more than bad spirits passing from one soul to another; it did away with vast amounts of my crew men, so it was hard for me to believe her until she relied on this technology of her realm to prove me wrong. So... it's a thing called a virus.

I suddenly come to realize the huge generation gap between my love and myself... and I love her for her patience, her dedication and her ever-going desire to teach this pirate new things.

Through this time, Liam has grown unbelievably and I feel like every day is like sea water through my fingers, leaving without as much as a salty trace of its passing behind; he is a heavy babe, dreadfully pale (the one trait of mine I had hoped he wouldn't inherit, but alas, there it is), and lovely in every sense. He started crawling around at ten months and soon enough we had potted plants, jars and all sorts of other dangerously set décor removed and put away because the wee lad is LETHAL. He will knock everything over and not give a damn. It was a dreadfully close call when he tried sticking his fingers in a socket. The following morning Swan and I had them all tapped with some strange little plastic coverings... only to find him trying to crawl down the stairs when for a brief second, Henry left the door open. I swear, it was no more than three seconds, the little spider's fast as lightning.

He's a mighty good eater... even plant soil is appetizing at times.

The golden moment, however, came one evening when, not one week before his birthday, Swan and I were relaxing over a cup of tea (cocoa in her case, with about half a bottle of cinnamon in it) and watching something on the box (television, she calls it... to me it's still the magic box), when Henry called to our attention. We turned and stared in silence as Liam, who had been sitting and fiddling about on the rug before us, had propped himself up on his two little feet while holding on to the heavy curtain by the window. We froze and held our breaths and the lad turned to us, gave us a look (one of those looks that say "I have no bloody clue what the hell it is I'm doing, but I'm doing it all the same", a trait that is so much like his father's adventurous spirit and his mother's bravery), and took only two steps before falling on all fours. We didn't even have time to capture the moment with the little magic camera. Alas...

Needless to say there was a bloody party that evening. Emma was first to pick him up and give him a big kiss (She will deny it, but she cried), and then it was my turn to hold him hard (I won't deny it, I cried). That lasted until Henry spoiled the party: "Yeah... If he was dangerous on all fours, imagine what he'll be breaking now..."

Emma and I ceased laughing. "Bloody hell, love, we'll have to pad the walls!" I exclaimed.

All the same, we are proud and happy that he is well, healthy and happy and that he has all the love neither of us had.

Emma is three months pregnant now, and yesterday we all blew out Liam's first candle. The soiree included practically the whole town: his uncle Neal and his grandparents were first on the line, Regina and her Hood and his boy (I don't exactly know what happened between him and his wife, but apparently he was far too involved with the Queen by the time Marion came back into his life, no thanks to the Swan and I), and then there were the Rumples or the Stiltskins or whatever they're called (I honestly have no idea) and their newborn girl, called... well, Milah. Yes; that was his way of making amends with his past. I suppose it was a good gesture on his part. She's a sweet enough babe; and thank all heavens, she looks like her mother.

The party was small enough, but I would not exchange the intimacy and fun of it for a lifetime of plundering gold aboard the Jolly Roger. I never thought I'd hear myself refer to a baby as "My Son" when I was a younger, wilder sea Pirate. There was a typical, standard children's party for this realm: A cake, some chocolate, some rather embarrassing music and a ridiculous man dressed in colorful clothes and a rather awkwardly misshaped red nose called a Clown for the little ones. They all loved the chap, however and I was unable to contain my smiles whenever Liam smiled... or Swan. My god, that woman's smile still rips my heart right out my chest. Cora taught me how to rip those things out and said that whomever holds the heart controls its owner. That must be the witch in Emma: She controls me, my every sleeping and waking thought... and I wouldn't have it any other way. My everlasting true love...I am just as crazy for her now as I was when I first fell for her. Or maybe more...

Two years earlier my only waking thoughts were to find a way to kill Rumplestiltskin for the death of Milah and the severing of my hand... and now we even exchange parenting tips! (Him: "From villain to villain, Captain... how does one change a nappy? Belle won't let me do it with magic, I can't, for the life of me..." Me: "Your sense of smell will be dulled after the first month, mate. But you'd sooner ask Emma, I never did any of that." Him: "Too picky, are we?" Me: "There's that... and there's the hook. Always a good excuse." Him: "Shall I cripple my hand to avoid the task?" Me: "You did your leg in to avoid the war, so why not? I've plenty of hooks to spare...").

With things the way they are right now, I pray we all remain the same.

And I have not enough words to convey just how excited and thrilled I am at the idea of Emma and I having another babe. I do hope it's a girl, a wee lass I can fuss and go crazy jealous over... be like David over Emma, maybe...

We will see.


	12. One Year and Five Months

Year and five months

Bloody Magic.

I believe my boy is more a Swan than a Jones in his blood. Turns out the bairn inherited his mother's gift of magic and has yet to harness its use. He's quite good and moving around now, sometimes with the aid of a walker and others just running like a little madman around the flat. So in most other aspects he's quite a regular little chap... except one day, I was (As always) doing my feeding task and he was... well, indisposed and basically in a very foul mood, due to lack of sleep. His porridge apparently wasn't much to his liking, so after I insisted one time too many, he flicked his little hand and the saucer with the oatmeal flew into my face.

As expected, Emma and Henry found it hilarious enough to laugh a steady hour; naturally, they would. They weren't the ones to have to wash a perfectly good new shirt. Although I must admit that, had it happened to either one of them, no one, I believe, would have been able to lift me up from the floor for hours. All the same, I told Emma what had transpired and she seemed somewhat put off by the notion that her little boy might be as much of a wizard as she was.

A week later, he threw another tantrum when the Swan trying to put him to sleep; his nap time is rather rigorous, but the wee one is a little bit of a spitfire and sometimes will very adamantly oppose the status quo (I'm afraid he takes that from his pirate Pater). Sleepy as he was, he noisily objected to being placed in his pen for his naptime, and when Emma finally placed him down, a plush toy from his drawer cabinet flew into her head. It wouldn't have hurt her, but when she turned, she claimed she saw him sniveling and frowning in her direction.

Now I do not object to magic in my household; lords know I was the one to encourage my Swan to embrace that side of herself and live out to her full potential; but the truth is my Liam is but a babe and has yet to learn how to get his skill under control. As far as we suspect, he still has no clue what he's doing.

Swan and I adamantly took him to Mr. Gold, who was apparently rather delighted in his skills. "Son of the savior..." he said, "AND also a product of True Love himself? You do the math, Miss Swan."

That's Mrs. Jones, Crocodile...

"All the same, it is best for all if the lad starts to practice early, or before you know it he'll be casting spells and curses all over the place without him knowing..."

"How?" Emma shrugged. "This is way out of the usual Gymboree stuff, Mr. Gold, I have no idea how to..."

"Do it together." He nodded at her. "You adn your boy." He turned to Henry. "That boy."

Henry looked stunned. "Wait... what?"

Gold walked to Henry. "Go on, Lad... hold out your hand. Palm up. Focus." He spoke to him. "You have the Heart of the Truest believer, also son of the Savior and grandson of The Dark One. You're BOUNF to have it. "

Henry focused on his hand for a while, under Gold's guise... and after a minute, a rather sizeable ball of fire emerged on the palm of his hand. To say he was elated is rather an understantement.

So between Henry and Emma they were supposed to mold and teach my boy...

I suppose I must have looked slightly downtrodden, because Gold turned to me. "And what seems to be the problem there, Captain?"

"Well, I have an extraordinary family of magic bearers and I am just... a one handed sailor." I shrugged. "What part do I play in this?"

"Killian..." Emma looked at me compassionately, touching my arm.

"Oh, you are plenty important, pirate." Gold nodded. "You are the other half of True Love. What makes you think that only elemental magic is important? Magic of the soul is a key ingredient." He nodded. "Take the savior, here... not even I would have foreseen that YOU, of all people, my long time foe, were the key element to her finding her magic. You, Mr. Jones..." He said, pacing to me, "...might not possess magic as such... because you ARE the magic."

I had to swallow hard to process that one. Swan smiled and grabbed on to my arm to kiss my cheek. "There you go, whiner..." She grinned.

"Can we expect the same from the next one?" I signaled over to my wife's (now very prominent) belly.

"Chances are, dearie... chances are..." He nodded with a side grin. "And maybe more so because of the child's gender..."

Swan and I hadn't wanted to reveal the sex of the child, but now we were dead curious. So when we both pushed to know, the man grinned coldly and nodded. "A princess is coming your way."

Glad. Very Glad.

In spite of their words and the Crocodile's assertions, I still felt rather out of place: I was the rogue, one-handed blaggard whose only real battling skill was the fist and blade and who was about as magical as a tangerine. My wife, bless her hero heart, was extraordinarily generous to me that day. Since we were once again in a no-sex policy (which is incredibly lethal, I can tell you), she actually tried to gratify me of her own account, selflessly, later that night. I hated not being able to comply and return the favor, but she is indeed the kindest, most loving soul in the world. Time will come where I will do all in my power to take her to see the stars and sun without expecting anything in rturn.

Jotted down and sealed as a promise.

Since that day Henry has taken to practicing magic with both Regina and Emma; he's quite skilled and has more than once taken to a little teenage mischief, not unlike his mother who either still teases me by swiftly flicking her wrist to misplace my hook (I still insist it's bad form) or by tickling me from a distance (sometimes in places only she should be able to tickle… and usually in public conveyances to test my resistance and skills of simulation… not a good thing when I am in the midst of a season of abstinence, I have to say).

Liam has also learned how to speak a great many more words. He never forgot Bloody Hell, which is sort of my pride and joy and makes Swan roll her eyes every time he says it. He asks for things, he can actually make himself quite clear when he wants specific things and will quite often resort to the use of his charms to get his way, the little sod.

Like father like son.

Henry, on his part, announced to me that he now has, indeed, a love interest. Seems in the end he went for one called Lillian. Showed me the photograph of the pretty young lass in his cell phone and, I have to say, I had to commend him for his tastes. Lovely redheaded young lady… Good for him to start getting his bearings, I say. Emma still doesn't know and I am currently strategizing a way to make it known. It will be henry's birthday soon and we have both schemed for her to show up and just make it clear that… well, that's how it is. The lad is fifteen soon. Very proud of my boy…. And I am sure Bae is looking down at us from some place, grinning proudly himself. And since he's now such a man, I actually have something planned for him, a rite of passage, so to speak. Swan will never agree, but it has to be done: a weekend in the ocean, on a boat, just the young sir and me, much like Liam took me out to sea when I turned fifteen and he was twenty-five. The boy is actually quite excited about it.

I draw the line at him bringing the young lady along though… fooling around far from home is bad form.

I'm a pirate, I should know.


	13. The birth of Elizabeth

LIZ IS HERE.

When Liam was born, there was a sense of tension that somehow didn't take place this time around; Swan was calm and fresh and looking beautiful, like always. But, like with all girls, our daughter seems to be a bit of a priss and decided to make Emma's life a living hell during the last few minutes of her birthing process.

There was a wee bit of drama there, all turned out well, but it could have gotten rather messy.

It just so happens that sweet little Liz decided not to flip into the natural upside down positon and, not just that, but as my Swan started to have her contractions, the child went ballistic in her mother's womb and somehow managed to intricately muddle herself under her own cord.

The Doctor asked to talk to me and wondered what blood type I was. Up until that particular moment I trully had no clue there were even different types of blood; as far as I knew, all blood was red, thick and liquid, and that was about that. But after a long (and quite frankly, quite beyong my scope of understanding) explanation on what blood types are, I agreed to have my own tested. I didn't really question why for a while, but when I did, I nearly toppled on the floor: My Swan was bleeding out and a donor was urgently needed.

Now, there are some perks to this whole "True Love" thing; We were a perfect match. So I agreed to have every pint of blood in me drained if need be… A small bottle sufficed, however. I was weak and wobbly for a few hours after that, which all in al lis not too bad compared to other conditions I've had to endure in my abnormally long existence. Anything for my Emma.

The Charmings arrived, as always, a picture perfect image of family unity, they were: David had Neal on one arm, and his lady's hand in the other. Princess Snow held my boy Liam on her other hand and Henry escorted them merrily behind. I must have looked in a proper state when they saw me because Snow suddenly looked as colorless and doughey as I did.

"Killian, are you ok? What's going on?" she asked, deeply concerned.

"Complications… they said." I replied, fighting not to cry. "They just took a pint of my blood for her… She was bleeding, and so they... complications."

Henry swallowed hard enough that I could see his (rather new) Adam's Apple bounce up and down. He approached me. "My mom?"

Now how could I brave the oceans when I was unable to keep myself together in front of my boy? I drew a deep breath and nodded, placing my hand on his shoulder. "Aye, lad, but you know your mother. Nothing can beat her." He hugged me hard and I held im back. "Don't be chaffed, m'boy. She will make it through, she always does."

David handed little Neal over to Henry (Not safe for me to hold any infant whilst wearing the hook) and went to the front desk to demand information. Naturally there was little they could say.

Ten minutes later, the doctor emerged with a sheet of paper and a pen. He approached me directly.

"Mr. Jones, we managed to stop the bleeding, she is stable, but the baby's life is at risk. We need toperform a c-section on her now." He handed me the sheet of paper. "If you'd like to sign the permit?"

"Wait…" I sneered. "C-section?"

Snow gasped.. "You're going to cut her open?"

"What?! No! Not a chance in bloody hell!" I barked.

"Mr. Jones…"

"Why wold you want to…"

"I assure you, Captain…" The doctor smiled reassuringly. "We know what we're doing, She will be fine, but we need to remove the child right now before it gets worse…"

I must have looked helpless. Snow sighed and bit her lip, nodding in my direction. David swallowed and came over to me, placinmg his han don my shoulder. "They have to do it, man… She'll be fine, She'll just need to recover for a little longer, but hell, we're here, we'll help out."

Henry nodded with a grin. "Look who's chaffed now, dad…"

The heart of the truest believer… I swear that boy's resilience in the face of adversity never ceases to astound me.

I took the paper and the pen and signed my name. David looked over my shoulder. "Wow... that's penmanship for ya..." He joked. "Quite the calligraphy you pull there, pirate..."

I hated the thought of my Emma lying there and getting cut open, so this time (and as opposed to my rather rooted tradition of not becoming involved in the birthing process) I agreed to wear a blue little scrub and hat (completely ruined my devilishly handsome looks, but I'd have done anything for Swan) and joined her in the operating room,

I was rather timorous at the sight of her… she looked slightly drawn. But then, she had just endured considerable blood loss and I probably didn't look much better myself, anyway. I swallowed all my apprehensions (and a batch of tears) and joined her side, caressing her forehead. "How are you coping, love?" I said softly.

She was neither fretting nor in pain. If anything, she looked calm and rather mellow. She smiled at me. "Well! Look who ventured into dangerous waters…"

"I told you… I'm a hell of a captain." I winked at her with a smile. I reached out and grabbed her hand. "You didn't think I'd let them do this and leave you alone to it, did you?"

She sighed. "You didn't stick around the last time."

"Well, the last time they weren't about to cut you open, Swan." I side-grinned. "Never you fear. You will do just fine. It's a minor thing, I am sure it will amunt to naught but a paper cut, tough lass that you are…"

She chuckled. "You… are so full of shit, Killian Jones…. You are scared to death."

I smiled and lowered my head in defeat. "Aye. Won't lie to you."

"You can't. I'd know."

"Emma…" I sighed with a wince, rubbing her hand. "Is this absolutely necessary?"

"This is kind of a common operation, Hook…" She spoke calmly back. "If anything I'm kind of relieved I won't have to be doing any more pushing…. It's kind of nice to be off my feet, actually."

I saw as the doctors lifted some sort of screen between us and her beautiful bulge, and I felt myself swallow a lump larger tan a cannon ball from the Jolly Roger. I began to sweat cold.

"Hey… hey… come back to me, Captain." I heard her voice from miles away. I turned to her, biting my lower lip. My palms were sweating something awful. But she lay there, smiling at me, looking as fresh as the morning. "The doctor told me it was your blood they used… We're actually compatible?"

That brought me back from the perilious journey into panic that I was diving into. "Aye, darling…"

She smiled. "So now I literally have your blood in my veins..."

"It would appear so..."

She chuckled. "I can live with that. Thank you, babe."

I just smiled at her. I love how she calls me 'babe' or 'baby'... I suppose it was this realm's affectionate term of endearment, so I always feel myself soar when she does. "Any time, love."

"Tell me a story, Killian…"

"Come again?"

"You have a three hundred year backlog of memories, I'm pretty sure you can come up with a good anecdote…"

I knew what she was doing… this wasn't so much about me telling her to keep her distracted; rather, she wanted ME to keep my mind off this particular birthing method. Gods, I love this woman!

"Well… just what sort of story would you care to hear now, Swan?"

"Tell me about her… You never talk about her."

"Her? You mean Milah?"

It struck me as odd that she'd want to hear of my old love, one that had taken a large part of my heart to the grave with her. But since my Emma had very much reconstructed the broken cracks and crevices her death had bestowed on me, I rather thought it to be ungentlemanly to treat my new love with stories of my romantic past.

"Yeah…" she smiled. "what was she like?" She must have sensed my apprehension, where she squeezed my hand. "Go on…" She grinned, her voice but a whisper. "I'm ok with it. I want to know what kind of man she met then… and what you guys did together…" She chuckled. "Come on, I've told you all there is to know of me and Neal…."

I sighed and for the first time in ages, I allowed nostalgia to overcome my thoughts, my mind filling up with colorful, vivid images of my first love. "She was…. Beautiful. Vivacious. She had real thirst for life and adventure. A bloody good pirate lady." I chuckled. "And she could beat me at dice any day."

"Henry can beat you at dice any day…"

"Aye, but his dice are loaded, lass…" I grinned, gently tapping her nose with my hook. "Anylord, she looked like a siren. Her hair was dark and long, her eyes were blue, like the sea… And her smile could waken the dead; her laughter carried for miles... She was just so… full of life."

"And just where did you two go together?"

"Oh, many places." He smiled. "We cruised the kingdoms, from the Enchanted Forest to the Magic Woodland and the shores of Agrebah…one by one, we mapped all the oceans… she turned out to be a bloody good cartographer. And she was a dead eye shooter. Not too good with a blade mind you, but give the lass a couple of pistols and she'd hit the mark, the truest aim I'd ever seen with a gun-powdered weapon. We had good times, that woman and I." I sighed.

She smiled a sympathetic smile. "You really loved her..."

I nodded. "Aye. That I did. And she loved me back. But there was always that nagging feeling that something was not right, you know?"

"Bae?"

"There's that... and there was also this feeling that one day, we'd pay for our sins. So we just lived each day at a time... " I sighed deep. "Till fate finally caught up with us." I looked down to the floor. "Rumplestiltskin had somehow acquired the dagger of the dark one and as soon as he enunciated his name, I knew the time had come. I deserved it; I must admit my arrogance and pride of yore were not good, love. I was cruel to him... he only wanted to claim his wife, and I all but humiliated him. I was young and damn all as along as I got my way, you know? So when he finally got to us, he took it all back. Nearly ripped my heart out."

"What?" She widened her eyes. "I didn't know that!"

"Aye... had his hand stuck in me chest for at least a minute. Hurt like bloody hell. But Milah stopped him. She would have died for me." I huffed. "She did die for me. I told her to run, to leave... but she refused to abandon me to death and instead... well, " I grinned. "You know the rest of the tale, darling. But, " I smiled. "We did have some great times together."

"I'm sorry, baby…" she mumbled, with a slight squeeze of my hand.

"Why, my love, you have nothing to do with her demise, why would you apologize to me now?"

She looked slightly saddened and I would have given my heart to have her lovely smile back like it was minutes earlier.

"You…. You're a sea captain." She sighed. "You gave it all up, all that… just to be with me. I sometimes think I'm holding you down."

I frowned. "What?"

"Do you ever just…. Want to go back out there? To the ocean?" she bit her lower lip. "Don't you miss it? Don't you feel like I'm… anchoring you?"

I smiled fully. That silly woman….

"Listen…" I bent over so my face was mere inches from hers. "If you want to know the answer to that, then yes. Yes, I do miss it. But when I ponder on the year I spent far from your side, how miserable and lonely I felt, I am grateful as all hell that I am here now. No other place I'd rather be moored, no other anchor I'd rather tie me to port." I kissed her gently. "I will never… ever regret trading the Jolly for your life, Emma. Enough with this folly now…" I kissed her nose and she replied with a smile. "Now be calm, woman, focus, you're in the middle of delivering a child, there…"

I had no sooner said those words when the doctor interrupted with a smile. "Actually, she's all done!"

He raised his hands and showed u sour baby girl… a princess… still attached to her mother and while moving gently and making odd gargling sounds, not a holler or a cry was heard.

I turned to Emma and kissed her deeply. Very well, I confess, I was a sopping, bawling mess. "We have a girl…" I smiled into her ear. "We have a girl…"

After they cleaned her up a but and clasped her chord, they gently lay my princess on top of… my other princess… and I simply stayed there, looking at both, while Emma welcomed her. I touched the gente, frail skin of my babe as I bit my lip, before turning to Emma (who now looked soppier tan I did). "Now, now, Swan…. Why would I want to set sail now?" I kissed her head. "The Jolly Roger is gone. This is where I am now, my love. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else…"

As if she hadn't been bellowy before, that set her off even more. She smiled, kissed me hard and told me to hold her, which I gladly did.

Unlike Liam, my princess had her mother's golden tresses. And she was so quiet and perfect… perfect.

I emerged a smiling man, announced to the Charmings that they were once again proud grandparents, this time to a lovely wee lass we would be naming Mary Elizabeth Jones. Henry emitted a loud "Yeah!" and the Prince and Princess just sort of held each other tight… before engulfing me in their family hug. Henry joined in… and I have tos ay that if I had been touched before, this absolutely undid me.

I knew at that precise instant, I didn't just have a family…. I belonged in one.

Elizabeth was my mother's name; I may not remember her, but I am still grateful to the woman for her gist of life to me… and Mary was snow's name in Storybrooke (Swan found it rather awkward naming her child Snow Elizabeth or White Elizabeth… and I tend to agree with her on that!).

I've yet to see what dynamics our two babes will develop. Liam is currently on a magical hiatus, but we've still to see where that leads us all. He's a good lad. And now we're five… five under that roof.

I might consider the idea of bigger housing….


	14. Fifteen, one and nine and one month

What… a… bloody… handful!

As it turns out, my eldest son (I am still grateful to Henry for actually adopting me before I legally signed him as my very own adopted son) has just experienced his first taste of heartbreak. Poor lad. He came home one day, Swan was out with our daughter getting her first medical checkup three weeks after we brought her home; I was sitting around playing with Liam. Henry let himself in with his keys and I only had to look at his face to know something was aching. In my experience, I have come to know well the difference in facial expressiveness between the pain of the heart and the pain of the body. This, I knew, pertained to the first.

But that didn't worry me half as much as the fact that the boy was actually drunk.

Now when you are in charge of a 1.9 month old babe and a teenage boy and circumstances girate in such a way that you know that YOU will be held accountable, what seems like a teenager's desperate plea for an ear and a shoulder will look to my wife as a blatant act of carelessness on my part, so I opted for making the dreaded call and informing her via cell phone that our boy was emotionally grievous… and drunk… and that I had not been the one to administer the spirits. I told her I'd handle it. She seemed content with it. Or as content as she could be expected to be, given the unfortunate circumstances.

First part of disaster, averted.

While Liam tried to sleep, Henry was lying on his bead, listening to some really horrid and loud music and trying to pretend he was alone. First time ever I heard that boy cuss and swear and it honestly broke my heart, because I know that that's not the Henry we all know.

Once Liam was sleeping, I tapped on the boy's door. As expected, I received a typical reply of an angsty, drunken teen:

"GO AWAY!"

I opened the door. "Sorry lad, I can't do that." I sat on his desk chair. "Especially since you are quite visibly inebriated and while I may not exactly be the prude you might think me as since I adopted you, I do know what the law in this realm is, with you being under the age of eighteen… not to mention your mother is the Sheriff here and she'll have both our livers for this…" I placed my hand and hook on my knees. "Now, what is the particular rationale behind this grievance of yours, lad?"

He snivelled and turned his head to me. "Did you ever get… dumped?"

"Dumped?"

He sat up erratically and I knew I'd better get a bucket soon because he would quite likely sicken any moment. "Yeah." He belched mildly before continuing. "Lil… broke up with me."

"Ah, I see…" I nodded. "Well, m'lad, I fear to tell you that it's things like those that make men out of children." I looked out the door to monitor the sleep of my other boy, who dozed blissfully in his pen, before turning back to Henry. "Any particulars?"

He began to sob and I felt instantly compeled to sit beside him and place my (hooked) arm around his shoulders. Poor lad lurched and shook and all I could do was just hold him in his wretchedness. "She said she fell for Hansel…"

"Hansel?" I enquired. "The chap with the blond sister who can't keep his candy cravings in check?"

"That…" He sniffed and raised his finger drunkenly as he nodded. "…would be the guy…" He sighed and heaved. "He's sixteen and he's a goddamned jock…"

"Oi, mind the language!" I scolded.

Yep. I was a far cry from a decent pirate now, where I banned a young man from cussing.

"Sorry…"

"So…" I nodded, still checking on Liam for good measure before turning back to the boy with the severe emotional disarray. "She thought you unfit?"

"She friendzoned me…"

"She… what?"

"She basically said…" hiccup "…that she reaaaaally, reaaaaally likes me and…" hiccup again. "…that she wants us to be friends… and then…" More sobbing. "I saw her making out with Hansel behind the track benchers!"

I winced and clucked my tounge. "Bad luck, mate… That must hurt. But trust me, I don't think you can still befriend this young lady." I shrugged. "Not after you sort of… develop feelings for her. So if I were you, m'boy, I'd make my stand, thank her for the lovely time and just… leave her be."

"Really?"

"Aye… and you'll see, boy. In time, there will be another… and maybe another after that, and each time you will swear to the heavens that she's the one and then get your heart broken accordingly… until you finally meet one girl that will indeed be the one who's meant for you." I chuckled. "Go on, Mr. Truest Believer, you know me to be speaking with the truth, here."

"All that hurt?"

I nodded. "Trust me, lad… when the right one comes, all the heartache, the waiting, the anger, the tears… will all have been a worthy wait and toil, you'll see. You just have to hang in there."

"Not sure I can."

"Oh believe me, you can." I smiled and gave him a gente pull. "You're Emma and Balefire's boy. You have it in your blood, lad."

He adressed a drunken look at me. "And yours too… don't… take yourself for granted… dad." He spoke slurredly.

I sighed and grinned, holding him. "Thank you, Henry…"

Won't lie. I swallowed tears. Still trying to keep Blackbeard out of my head. Never thought I'd have my bladder so close behind my eyes.

"Now, let's adress the issue of… your current state." I licked my lips. "Just… what particular draught have you imbibed, m'boy, and how exactly did you come by it?"

"You'll kill me…"

"No. But your mother will, if you don't tell me first."

Henry tilted slightly and I steadied him as he spoke. "I kind of… shoplifted it."

Now that shocked me. Amazing thing, this parenting business; turns you into the complete opposite of yourself. Here I am, a consumated sea pirate captain, an expert thief and rapscallion, shocked that my teenage son had shoplifted some spirits.

"You didn't…" I sneered and winced. "Bad form, Henry!"

The boy looked not only drunken and miserable, but now also contrite. I hated this.

"I'm sorry…" he wept.

I sighed. "And just what did you knick from the shops then, boy?"

He tilted his head towards his rucksack (a heavy, bulky type of satchel the young ones seem to love) and I immediately went down to collect the spirits. It was a small flask that was halfway empty already. It read Tequila (I still can't pronounce it). I smelled it and even I, a hard-drinking rum guzzler, gagged from the smell alone. One sip… and I actually coughed.

Once again, Blackbeard's laughing face came into my mind. _'They were right about you, Hook! You have gone soft!'_

"Bloody hell, lad! This is bloody lamp petrol!" I exclaimed.

"That… would explain why I feel so… sick…"

I knew of this. I ran like a bat out of hell itself, grabbed a bucket from the broom closet, ran back and held it under his nose just in time. As the poor boy retched miserably, I used the same dastardly libation to rub it on the back of his head. "There, lad… just get it all out."

It was right around that time that Swan and our wee lass arrived back from her medical. Emma stormed into the room and I could tell she was about to holler bloody murder at the boy, but one look at his miserable state and she held back. She gave me a look, one of those looks that read '_Will he be ok?_' all over them. I winked a serious and (much unlike my usual self) non-romantic wink at her and she nodded. She reached out with one hand (our babe was in the other) and caressed the boy's head. "You'll be ok, sweetie…" She grinned. "We're here for you."

Bless her soul for understanding. I still can't believe I'm actually in wedlock with her.

Later that night, with Liam in his pen, Liz in her bassonette and Henry already sleeping off the draught, Emma lay by my side in an awfully quiet state while I read a book. Then the sound of her voice drew me completely out of my enjoyable literature.

"I'm a bad mother…"

I turned my head to her. "Come again, Swan?"

She looked so sad, I immediately felt helpless.

"Henry… he's out getting drunk and shoplifting booze and…" she started to weep. "And I'm a bad mother…"

I placed the book on my nightsand and turned completely to her side. "What nonesense, love!"

"Nonesense?" she looked at me. "What kind of person am I where my teenage son prefers to talk to a guy who's not even his real father to me?"

For all our time together, Emma still somehow knew how to punch me below the belt, even when uncalled for. I must have looked profoundly stung (which I was), because she instanlty took both hands to her mouth. "Oh god… Killian… I'm sorry…" she cried some more. "You see? I'm a horrible person!"

I swallowed my injured pride. Much as her words had hurt, seeing her ache like this hurt even more, so I sighed and held her as she repeatedly apologized to me. "Come now, you silly girl…" I caressed her hair, a habit I had developed and had no intent to relent on. "Look, the boy is fifteen, he's been hurt… If I told you the things I was doing at his age you'd probably ask me for a courtly divorce. He's a good lad, teenage boys do this sort of thing. Don't worry too much. Let's just… take his x-box and iPad away for one month and be done with this business."

I had no idea how those dastardly contraptions operated; I just knew that they were second to sacred for the lad and that history had proven that, whether it be a wooden carved toy or an iPad, punishment was still in vogue and quite functional to amend unruly behavior.

"How can I punish him when he's hurting like that?"

"We won't be doing so for his heartbreak, Swan, he's not to blame for that… but shoplifting? THAT, we have to take into account and give the lad an idea that all actions have consecuences." I shruged. "I wish I had had someone telling me that…"

She grinned at me. "Damn you, Pirate… When did you get so wise?"

I grinned back and cleaned the tears from her face. "When I met you…" I smiled and kissed her forehead. "Come now, love, we both did our share of dereliction in our youth, and compared to us, our boy really is quite a saint! Tell me of any teen child who isn't angry for whatever reason. He's a fine boy, just turning into a man, he's bound to have bouts of insubordination… That does not mean you're a bad mother, Swan, what sort of nonsensical talk is that, love?"

She looked at me and sniffed. "You think so?"

"Aye… I do."

She smiled. "I don't deserve you…"

I rolled my eyes. "No… you deserve even better, but alas, you're stuck with me." She giggled (did I ever say I adore her giggle?) and I kissed her nose. "Now, enough with this foolishness, my love, you'll waken the babes…"

She grinned, nodded, told me she loved me and settled for sleep.

Blisfully lucky man….

**One week later.**

Liam is now able to walk and talk and can actually ask for specific things. I find it rather amusing to hear him say '_Izzy_'. That's what he calls his little sister. Henry he calls '_Enny_' and is quite articulate with '_daddy_' and '_mamma_'. Then there's '_hup!_' when he wants to be held, '_nown_' when he wants to be placed back on the ground, '_kew_' for thank you, '_beez_' for please, and has some rather interesting and odd words of his own to describe the things he likes, for instance, there's his favorite plush toy (a bloody crocodile, a gift from Mr. Gold, cheeky old bastard), which he calls '_booby_' (he must really be his father's son, to have picked that word!). When he feels hungry, he says something like '_kimbo_'. It took Emma and I quite a while to gather that kimbo means food. Or he also says something like '_nana_!' when he definitely does not want something. So we've all become quite adept at understanding Liamish. We could be faced with a rather complex sentence, such as 'mamma booby beez' (Mother, can I have my plush crocodile, please?), or 'Izzy hup nana!' (Don't hold Elizabeth! That's how we could tell he was a tad jealous of his sister).

I honestly don't know where he gets it all from, I swear. But he is quite articulate and once we got the overall abstarction of his lingo, it was rather easy to establish a primitive line of communication with the little lad.

Then there's his magic. He still has no bloody clue that he has it and we have had to deal with having our food knocked over our laps, the picture screen switching signals, cups and plates flying around… it's almost like living in a bloody haunted house. But still, we know he means no harm. The babe has no clue it is he who is doing these misdeeds. Once he actually pulled the rug from under my feet and I went crashing back, hit my head on the mantelpiece and had to get three stitches as a result. Still, I have infinite patience with the wee boy who trully has no idea he injured his oblivious father, whom he really looks like by the way. Bloody handsome little bugger! Ha!

As for my princess, well, she must have ingerited her grandsmother's mellow temperament. She's but a month old. She loves being held, hardly ever cries (whimpers, rather), eats and sleeps like a gift from the gods and looks like an angel; her countenance is rather like Snow's and Emma's. She has Swan's Golden locks and (even now I can tell) her cheeks and nose, but the eyes rather look like Mary Margaret's and so does her incredily red little mouth, not to mention her unbelievable whiteness, which is quite her grandmother's main trait. And she is every bit the royal (not counting her Jones bloodline which, alas, I still have to confess is as royal as a packet of gravel). She does have a proclivity for being held by me. She would. Every little lass will always adore her father and that, I must say, makes my heart palpitate with tenderness.

What a trip this life of mine has been.

No one shall ever read this bloody book or the whole town will know Captain Hook is a soft man with a warm spot for babes. But truly, my family, my wife and every friend I've conjured in this town is worth every drop of blood, sweat and every tear shed in my past. I'd give up the Jolly Roger a thousand times over, if it meant I'd be where I stand today.


	15. Sixteen, two and one and five months

16 years, 2.5 years and 5 months.

I am a family man. Full blown, no time to dwindle in the hopes of ever turning back to piracy.

Alas, one has to be a one-man orchestra to support this particular troop! I have me a wife, a teenage boy (who eats copious amounts, almost as if I were supporting three teenage males), a two year and five month wee lad who has fortunately taken to learning simple magic tricks to channel his rather overwhelming magical skill and a baby witch. Yes, a baby witch. My little princess, who looks so much like her lovely mother, has also displayed early signs of magical know-how.

Alas, she also has her mother's terrible temper. Not that it's such a bad thing… Oddly enough and much of a pain in my bloody arse that she can be, Emma Swan's unpredictable temper is probably one of the reasons I adore her. That's love for you.

Henry apparently has reached that age where all his charm and nobility have temporarily walked the plank; he is still a wonderful boy, kindhearted deep down and with a special light inside of him; but alas, his teenage furor has caused him to rebel. He and Swan have the ghastliest fights, worse still, was a fight we had with him the other night where even I had to intervene with a little more discipline... and wound up licking wounds myself.

And I have to say it was a major drama.

He returned home far later than usual, and both Regina and Emma were terribly distraught. We had all tried to contact him on his phone but apparently they were never able to get the call through. I like to think that his battery charge ran its course, but given the current fluctuating nature of the lad, I am sadly more inclined to believe he had it intentionally switched off.

I had never seen both Emma and Regina in such a state. I offered to go out for a spin (yes, I learned how to drive... that's one hilarious episode in my friendship with Prince Charming) and see if I found him wandering around; it was, after all, coming midnight. I too was really starting to feel antsy. But just as I was grabbing the keys to Emma's car, we heard him rustle his way up the stairs.

Emma ran to the boy... so did Regina... and he pushed them both away.

I will never forget the look of hurt on my Swan's face. I walked to the boy and told him not to treat his mother that way, after what he put her through... and he simply replied something along the lines of "You're not my father".

Now I was the one looking dejected. The boy was on a roll of daggers with a tongue that could easily make a sailor blush. Go figure, me, a pirate, in sheer shock over his utterance! He told Emma that she had no right to baby him, and that if she had ever wanted that, she had lost her right to do so when she gave him away. Regina didn't get a much better deal, either... She became the Evil Woman who adopted him to fill up the gap in her heart and that she was also no mother to him at all. Basically, our Henry declared himself an orphan. In front of his adoptive parents and orphan mother. Even I have more tact than that!

Once he locked himself in his room, the three of us just exchanged shocked and ached glares. What had come over our loving Henry Mills?

The babes were screaming off the top of our lungs. Regina took her leave with tears in her eyes and Swan and I split the task: I took the princess (I still have that singing gift) and she went over to see to wee Liam.

After the babes had settled, Emma and I sat in the living room. She was crying something awful and I was close to, myself, as I held her. I was livid, actually. What on earth had triggered Henry to be so bloody cruel to all of us?

It took the boy three hours to emerge. Emma had gone to sleep and I sat watching the magic box. He sat by my side and huffed. "I'm sorry..."

I didn't even turn to see him. "What are you sorry for, lad? I'm not even your father, remember?" I grinned with no humor at all.

It hurt to say it. It did.

"No, yeah, you are, I'm sorry, dad. I..." I could tell he was starting to break, but that didn't make me feel any better. I rolled my eyes in his direction and saw his own, flooded with tears. I looked back to the box, blankly.

"Listen to me, boy..." I spoke quietly and slowly but harshly. "You are not ever... EVER to speak to your mother the way you did again... or Regina, or I. I care NOT what is burdening you, that was bad, bad form. None of us deserved this, especially not when it's your own bloody mother. Both of them!" I finally turned my full gaze to him and for the first time in years I felt like Captain Hook talking to one of his sailors. "Is that absolutely clear, lad?"

I must have looked terrifying because Henry simply nodded, wide-eyed.

"Good. Now..." I turned to him completely. "What in bloody hell prompted you to act worse than the worst of pirates? And trust me, I know..."

Henry huffed and swallowed. "P... please don't tell mom."

I frowned. "She's your mother..."

"But she can't know this!"

I sighed and turned off the box before turning my full attention to him. "Well, we'll see. What is it?"

The lad swallowed and looked to the floor. "I may have... made a really, really big mistake."

"How so?"

He looked up into my eyes and lowered his voice. "I... I did it."

"Did what?"

He blushed. "You know... IT."

"Oh... OH!" I exclaimed, wide-eyed. "That! Well... all right. When?"

"A month ago."

I shook my head. "Well, I assume you're a young man now, it's only normal... I mean, you're still young by any standard but we all bloom differently I suppose. So..." I shrugged. "What's the problem?"

Henry sighed. "Her name is Paige..."

"Jefferson's girl?"

"Yeah... and... and ... Oh God... she's..." He gritted his teeth and looked down.

I instantly knew what he was talking about. "Oh, Henry, she's not!" I sat back.

When he looked up at me again I could not avoid feeling saddened by the look on his face. "We don't know for sure..." He began to weep. "What am I gonna do? If she is, what am I gonna do?" He sobbed miserably. "I'm sixteen! My mom will kill me, she will kill me! Regina will kill me too! And Jefferson will..."

"All right, all right lad." I Held him by the shoulders. "That's enough of that now." He nodded and sniveled. "Right, first off, we have to be a hundred percent sure she's with child. Do you know for sure?"

"No... She just is a few days late..."

"Right. Well..." I ran my hand through my hair. "You really gone and done it now, lad... "

"I know. I just... I couldn't help it! WE couldn't help it!"

I rubbed my temple. "I think you're right. We shouldn't tell your mum about this, not until we know for sure." I shook my head and looked at him. "You do know that if she finds out she'll have my particulars, don't you? She really can't take it when I conceal information, especially about her family."

"I know..."

"Now, I suggest, we keep our heads under the cool of the water, lad, and you go over to her now and apologize... profusely. You can't go around hurting people when you feel wretched, take it from me, it only isolates you."

He nodded. But he didn't move. "I... am so sorry dad. You are my dad, you will be till you die, I swear I didn't mean it... I swear..."

I turned to look at the boy and could not help the tears in my eyes as I reached out to hold him. I wept... I actually wept as I held him. "Don't ever say that again Henry... you know I love you, you know you are my son, so never cross that line again, lad! You bloody hurt me, you hurt us all!"

"I'm sorry... Honest, I am." He kept weeping.

"Right…" I sniffed and pulled away with a grin. "Look… whatever happens in the end, I am sure your mother will support you. She always will. As will I. We both love you. There's always a way, but for now there's no need to get our knickers in a twist, m'boy. Go on, take a deep breath…" He complied. "That's a good lad. Now… go in the room, and make up with your mother. I will see you tomorrow after school, bring the young lass along and we'll all go to the doctor's. I'll just tell your mother we're off for a day in the boat, all right?"

Henry nodded. "Thanks, dad."

"You silly bastard…" I smiled at him. "Go on…"

Before midnight, everything had settled down. Emma slept in peace and I gather Regina did too after Henry called her. The babes slept in peace and so did henry.

Alas, I did not. The idea of Henry fathering a child at his age shook me deep. How? Why hadn't he come to me for support before? I might have given him one of these absolutely nifty and wonderful contraptions called condoms, a marvel of this realm, I must say.

To make a long story short, I drove the lad and the young lady (I have to admit she was quite a lovely looker, Jefferson's little one. Henry wasn't blind) to the clinic the next day.

Bless the gods, all tests turned out negative. That was a relief for all. And I have to admit I started to feel like a decrepit old bloke when the two engaged in a kiss, quite ardent, too. I had to clear my throat to remind them that they were not alone. We then drove the young lady back home, and on the way to our apartment, Henry and I stopped for some coffee (yes, the boy has switched to coffee… ) and had a long talk regarding women, sex and taking the necessary precautions.

I swear if he ever says to me again that I'm not his father…

I had to tell Swan, at least half the story. She now knows her son, her little rescuer, the wee boy who found her five and a half years ago and brought her to Storybrooke, is now a bit of a raging young bull. She didn't quite know what to make of it. The whole thing about him being a minor was the first thing she started on… but in all honesty, being young and being in love doesn't know about legalities. She was shocked to hear I was actually thirteen when I first took the plunge. She was seventeen, I believe… with Neal.

I of course begged her not to tell the lad that I had told her, or he'd be embarrassed. And yes, I deliberately omitted telling her about Henry's little false alarm. Why upset her?

We both sat in bed that night, me reading a book (physics… fascinating subject!) and her just looking strange. "Swan, I can hear you think a mile away…"

"We're getting old…" she sneered at me. "Henry's getting laid, for Christ sake! Henry! MY little Henry! We are aging, Killian! Before you know it we'll be the ones needing a change of diapers."

"And a welcome breath of fresh air that will be!" I smiled at her.

"Are you out of your mind?"

"After over three hundred years of devilishly handsome looks, I do feel more than ready to start sagging." I stated with a grin. "Besides, as long as I sag alongside you, Swan, I fear no evil."

"But I don't want to sag!" She whined at me.

I closed the book and turned to her. "Why are you so scared of aging, love?"

"You get old!"

"Only as old as you want."

"And ugly."

"Swan…" I turned to my side and touched her lips. "You will never, ever be ugly."

She looked at me with a grin. "Your hair might fall, Killian, you have a pretty mighty forehead."

I shrugged. "So I'll be bald; will you leave me for it?"

"Of course not."

"Well there you go. I've all I need! I've three children, a lovely lady wife, a job, a roof over my head and friends. Who cares about a few wrinkles when I'm so blessed?" I picked up the book and resumed my reading. Emma simply chuckled and snuggled under my left arm.

"Love you…"

I still feel a thrill and a shiver every time she says that; like the first time she ever did. She'll never grow old… not to me.

Now, teenage drama makes infant mischief look like a doddle.

Liam has finally managed t find fun ways to channel his magic. He makes things disappear and reappear (I'll never forget Emma's BOOM when she placed that cocoa mug over the book I was perusing) conveniently close to his chubby little grasp. A lot of the times I KNOW he does it to get on our nerves.

There was this one time… I had him in his pen while I was on daddy duty; Emma had gone for a much deserved ladies night out; Henry was out at the cinema with Paige and I was given the arduous task of taking care of the little ones. While I was changing Liz (Yes, alas, I had to do it eventually, ugh), Liam was being very persistent about his pacifier.

"Just a minute, lad!" I'd sing to him. "You sister's almost done…"

But my boy has no knack for patience. My hook disappeared from my hand and when I turned, he was aptly wrapping his little lips around the curve of it.

I might be considered imprudent, and if Child services had seen me, they might have taken the boy from me…. But I used my new cell phone (I really DO know how to use it, honest!) and took a photo before removing the object from him, to his great, great distress.

He's two now, my boy. And every bit as dashing as his father. He has a full set of teeth now and has a knack for biting. I've a couple of marks to prove it. Unfortunately the boy seems to find screeching people amusing, the little madman. We've yet to set him straight. In the meantime, he's still not apt with words, but damn that boy bloody talks! He can go for hours on his toy phone babbling incoherencies that to him sound exactly like his mother or I would! It's marvelous, delightful… downright hilarious, as a matter of fact. I could swear it's an actual language! He does pepper it with some of his proper words of choice, but the point s not to make sense… just to talk. That's what life is about for Liam James Jones: Talk, talk and blah, blah bloody blah. Personally, I egg him on. It's lovely!

I bet Blackbeard couldn't do baby talk.

He does eat by himself now… hardly makes a mess. Perfect little boy. Perfect. He absolutely delights in eating Cherri'os. I can't blame him, every time he sits down for a bowl, I bloody join him! Emma's had a couple of go's at me for eating them when they belong to the lads, but if I can provide my eldest son with condoms, I'm sure he doesn't mind me having his share of Cheeri'os!

As for Lizzie? Sleeping angel, waking little demon… in the good sense, of course... But she's the apple of my eye, no joke. She's a delightful little girl. She'll go with anyone, smile at everyone and gargle and wail and laugh… But unlike Liam, she can't go through the night without screaming bloody murder! Either Swan or myself will inevitably waken to take care of her. Usually I go fetch her and bring her over to Swan for feeding and I am merrily reminded of the days she fed Liam, leaning on our head rest and snoring while the baby enjoys the meal. Poor Emma. They suckle her dry! The wee girl then sleeps but wakes perhaps an hour later, because everything that goes in, it seems, has a direct pass out and needs a change right away.

I still leave most of that part to Swan. Unless it's absolutely indispensable that I do it…

And as before, singing duties fall on me. There's nothing quite as remarkable as seeing a little one sleep in your arms. The feeling of being needed, wanted, is just such an overwhelming albeit marvelous sense of responsibility. My little duckling, my princess… even if she's more of a pirate, I don't care.

Yet I wonder…

I must end this journal for now… Charming just called…. Something about a strange occurrence at sea and some new arrival.

Having a family, these things now make my legs quiver. They are terribly vulnerable and mine and Emma's weakest spot. We will see what this is about.


	16. The Missing Children

The missing children, Day one.

Life can alter the course of even the bravest, boldest pirate's life. Who would have known; I was once Captain Hook, loathed and feared, loved by my crew and one woman who paid the price of her love for me with her heart. Other pirates bowed before me; no other man in the realm was as skilled a bladesman as I…

And now I sit, in the middle of my very well rooted apartment in Storybrooke, ship-less and tame, weeping for those whom I've lost to an unknown foe.

When I returned from my place of employment (Of course I have employment!), I found Emma sifting insanely through our home…

The children. They were gone.

She seemed desperate as she clung to my arms and I had a hard time making out what she was saying, but I did manage to understand when she said "I'm the savior… and I can't save my family."

We know not why, where or who took our children. All I know is the feeling; The feeling of seeing Emma Swan, the strongest, boldest, most beautifully audacious woman I've ever known, thrown in a heap of tears by the couch; The feeling of looking at toys and blankets scattered around the apartment in woeful silence; the feeling of emptiness upon seeing those broken picture frames on the floor, holding the precious memories of our two little ones and our boy; the feeling of longing and yearning as I hold the wee blanket of my little girl to my nose and I can still smell her.

I could not help myself. I fell to my knees and wept. I wept and sobbed and heaved and quivered until I felt my wife's embrace from behind me, sharing the burden. As always… my beautiful princess.

As it turns out, it seems ALL the babes in Storybrooke have gone astray. We received a desperate call from David, asking if per chance, if per blessed chance, we might have brought wee Neal home with us for some reason. Snow has no recollection of what ungodly event took place, she only remembers placing him in his little bed for nap time, heading down to her kitchen and feeling dizzy and sick…. Waking up on the floor and finding her little boy gone.

I still cannot think straight. The pain is far too intense. I miss them terribly.

It's an interesting thing, when these things happen to a person. When they happen to someone else, you feel sympathy and a modicum of ache for their loss… but when it happens to you, no sympathy, no small amount of empathic affection or words of wisdom suffice to dull the throbbing, pulsating ache of not knowing where your children are, of wondering if they've been fed or bathed if they're cold or warm…. alive or dead.

They are only children! What would anyone want with them? Henry and my little ones! Gods….

I shall, to my earnest, stand straight for Swan. I always have… I can't crumble much now. She is one who loses her own faith rather quickly and we all need our savior again. If there is anyone in this realm who can set this to sorts, it is her, although I do not want to utter this out loud, lest she feel burdened with such overwhelming accountability. Odds are, every child in Storybrooke is gone into the ocean and dead, or could have been taken away to another realm and finding them all will be near impossible for her…. But I still know she will do her best. Starting by the fact that she has over four thousand calls in wait at the precinct.

The missing children, Day Three.

My suspicions were correct. Not one infant has been found in town. The playgrounds are vacant, the schools are closed and all nurseries are temporarily suspended until further notice.

Swan blamed me first. She always does. Then she came about and forgave me even when I had done nothing wrong.

I'm use to her doing this; someone has to be accountable. I am her partner in life and I am more than glad to take the fist chest shot form her, because I know that her attempts at making heads from these dreadful tails we've been dealt are just that.

But for the life of us… we have no clue.

Regina and Rumple are at a loss as well. Rumple's wee one is also, as Swan says, M.I.A., so the meeting this particular time was somber and tearful, to say the least. I took one look at Belle and I was instantly reminded of my Swan three days ago. And even I have to say the Crocodile's demeanor is heartbreaking. David and Snow are no better; that poor woman has lost all her children to curses and witches; sure, she's recovered them, but such a kind soul shouldn't have had to, to begin with.

"What interest could anyone possibly have with our children?" David quipped. "They're only children!"

"Maybe it's the potential…" Regina sneered.

"Potential to what, finger-paint the entire town to oblivion?" Emma snapped.

I placed a hand on her shoulder and she toned down. "Swan…"

Emma looked at Regina and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I just…." I knew she was fighting tears and that made me fight my own. "Many of these missing children are no more than a few months old, days, even!" She huffed. "Whale has reported that the entire maternity ward has also disappeared!"

There was a collective gasp. It hurt to even think of it; newborn babes away from their mothers? This could prove to have a tragic outcome.

"That's what I mean, Miss Swan." Regina nodded calmly. "The potential. This could be something big."

"Could be?" Snow sobbed. "It already is."

"No, wait…" Rumple cut in and stood from holding Belle. "She's right. What is the one thing any of you lot can think of that would selectively pick out all the youngsters under the age of eighteen and make them disappear?"

I looked up into his eyes. "A curse."

"Indeed, pirate. Indeed." He nodded.

We all exchanged confused glances.

"But…" Belle sobbed. "Why would anyone cast a curse to take away all our children?"

Regina shook her head and walked to the other side of the room, where Robin sat, somber, one hand on his forehead. Marion hadn't even showed up; she had fallen ill at the loss of little Rowland. She placed a hand on his shoulder and looked at all of us. "Whoever did this… will not go unpunished. I suspect that whoever did this, is doing it to weaken the morale of the town."

"So… what, they're planning a takeover, whoever 'they' are?" Emma sneered.

"Does that surprise you, Miss Swan?" Rumplestiltskin shook his head.

David shook his head and sighed. "Anything can happen in this town…" he looked up to Regina. "Do you know of any curses that are designed only to take children?"

She shook her head. "No." she looked up to Rumple. "We have work to do, Mr. Gold."

"Aye, we do…" He nodded back. "In the meantime, I suggest we all go about our regular routines."

I laughed. "I don't know about you mate, but I truly have no desire to labor at the docks knowing my little ones are gone…"

"And that is precisely the reason WHY you have to do it!" David barked at me. "If Regina and Gold are right, Hook, whoever did this is trying to get to us. We shouldn't give him or her that advantage."

"Wait…" Emma frowned. "There was a new guy in town."

"Yeah…" David frowned. "He came in with the tide, caused a freak rise in the waters a week ago."

"Aye, I remember that. You called, needed extra hands…" I shrugged. "Or… hand."

That got me a little hand squeeze by Emma. I at least could still bring a little humor into her sunken, aching heart, at least. I live for moments like those.

Belle stood up. "Wait…. His name was John Piper." She licked her lips. "He came into the shop one afternoon, remember, Rumple?"

"I don't recall." He sneered.

"Yeah!" she nodded back at all of us. "He was all dressed in red, said he had only the memory of one thing he possessed… he said he was from the Enchanted Forest and that he had come to Storybrooke looking for one article that might have been swept away with the last curse!" she looked to the floor. "He seemed rather desperate, now that I recall. He left his name jotted on a piece of paper if I should find it."

Regina paced to her. "And just what was he looking for, Belle?"

She frowned. "I… can't recall. But I believe it was a…" Realization befell our local young beauty. She looked at all of us, her mouth open. "…a flute."

Snow gasped. "John Piper…"

"The Pied Piper of Hammelin." Emma shook her head and sighed. "Well, at least we have a start."

"Wait…" Rumple cut in. "Pan had been the one to lure the children with his pipe. He nearly lured Bae away right under my nose…"

I huffed. "Pan is dead."

"That, he is. So if this man is the real pied piper, he must have taught Pan the arts of luring children away."

"Belle…" Emma stood up. "Time to get into your dusty old books, find out all you can about this man. Regina, Rumple…" She turned to them. "Let's see if you can figure out a way to recreate this curse."

Robin finally held his head up to us. "And what will the rest of us be doing? I don't fancy sitting idly by, conjuring up ideas of where our children could be."

"We'll be getting ready." She replied. "I've crossed realms before to get my son, I know what I have to do." She turned to me and fell into my arms. I held her and rocked her, reassuring her that she was on track, before she turned back to all of them. "If this is the guy and he's done what we think… then I know where the children all are. Killian?"

"Yes, darling?"

she grinned. "I know it's not the Jolly Roger, but do you think you'd be able to Captain one of the larger ships we have?"

I grinned and winked at her. "Hey… it's me!"

"Excuse me!" Regina cut in. "Just what will the point of that be?"

She turned sharply to Regina. "We'll need a large vessel… to bring them ALL back." She huffed. "We should also find a bean. Someone get Anton to hand one down."

"Pardon me love… who is…Anton?" I sneered.

She turned a look of disbelief to me. "Tiny!"

"Oh the little fella! Yeah, I remember him." I smiled at her. "Hard to forget the shackle in his palace…"

She smiled at me. "A day after we met…" She stepped close to me.

"Aye…"

We kissed. I sensed that's what people in love do.

"I hate to break up your little valentine's date, but there are children missing!" Regina urged.

I looked at her and stepped up to the once upon a time Queen. "Listen, love… right now, she is all I got and I'm all she's got. I sense the same applies to all of us here. So please, spare us the bitterness. We WILL find these children. " I turned a grin to my Swan. "I've yet to see her fail…"

Regina sighed and nodded. "Fine then. Let's all find something of use to do until we can get to…" she turned to Emma. "Where is it we're headed to this time, Miss Swan?"

Emma grinned confidently. "Hamelin. I can bet my butt that the town named Hamelin in Germany was named after a whole realm. If the pied piper exists, so does this place."

Snow stood and hugged her daughter. "You never let us down, Emma."

"I hope I don't…" She wept as she held her mum back. "For all our sakes…"

Later that night, Swan and I lay in bed, simply holding each other in silence.

"Darling…"

"Hmm?"

"Whatever happens…" I said to her. "Let's not ever, ever fall apart."

She chuckled and held me to her. "Not on your life, Pirate."

I kissed her head. "We WILL find them, love. Have faith. You can do it. We can do it!"

She looked at me. "Why do you always have such faith in me?"

I shrugged. "And why should I not? Not even Cora was able to rip out your stout heart, my love, and she was the most powerful witch in all the realms. You, Emma Swan…"

"Jones…"

"Swan, for practical purposes…" I continued. "…you are the Savior. You are the one who can do this."

"Killian…" she whispered. "what if they… what if…?"

"Shh don't!" I stopped her. "They are alive. I know it, they're my blood too and I can feel it! And should I be wrong…" I caressed her face. "I will remain at your side. No matter what."

That was the last thing uttered this day. We shall set sail to this Hamelin place as soon as we have the bean and the ship is ready.

I SHALL get our children back; alive or dead, they WILL return home to Storybrooke.


	17. Rescue Journey Day One

Journey to find the Children,

**Day One.**

**Early Morning, 05:00**

A single bean. That is all we have, which means we've not enough for the way back with the children of Storybrooke. Wherever we go we may get stuck; but if I know the dynamics of this particular team, we will find a way.

I have to hand it to the Crocodile… he practically ripped his shop into bits in search of an old bottle that held a single bean, one he kept, in his own words, for a rainy day, and which he had stolen from Zelena before the second curse dragged everyone back to Storybrooke while I searched for Swan in New York. But after Bae passed, he stashed it away, hoping never to have to make use of it.

I have to say I have never been more grateful to Rumplestiltskin.

So here we all are, readying ourselves to journey into a realm none of us has ever seen. I feel rather unsure that this steel beast of a vessel will hold, even if Emma, Regina dna the Dark One have cast a protector spell on it. She's a large one, larger than my Jolly, far heftier, but with enough room to bring back the many infants that have gone astray. I am the Captain once more. And while I must say I missed the position, I hate the circumstances that led me back to the helm of a ship.

We shall depart at exactly oh-five hundred and thirty hours, before the sun rises.

It took every effort on my part to try and work the ways of this steel monster of a ship. It is tragic that this realm does not manufacture wooden ships any more; they are far lighter, easier to maneuver and can gain unbelievable speeds, drafted by the wind… and with the proper magic, sometimes they fly.

I've not had any proper repose in days, neither my lady Swan nor I. How can we even dare to think of doing so? Our children are gone; we know not of their whereabouts, their health and worst of all, whether or not they live at all. I am inclined to believe so… but hope is a fickle friend and an even more fickle ally. It's usually the first to jump ship and desert you.

Both Swan and I know how it feels to lose hope… and I fear that, should we lose our little ones and our Henry… we might lose ourselves. I pray not.

The journey begins soon. I must be sound of mind and at the ready for this. I pray this may not be my final entry, for we have no clue where the bean will take us to… But regardless of our fate, if we go down, at least I will go down with my Swan… and my friends. I pray to Ursula tat she will grant us a calm sea…

**Day One.**

**Early Morning, 06:49**

This is a heavy, heavy ship. But, I would lie if I said that it hasn't been fun to Captain it. I had to learn that these ships are not wind and ocean-current powered; they are equipped with their own engines. Unstealthy, unsightly and damn hard to stir through portals, it seems. But here we sit, in the calmest ocean I have ever seen in my life, under a beautiful night sky, clad with billions of very unfamiliar stars… and the lights of a not so distant harbor stirring to life.

This I feel must be the harbor of the realm of Hamelin.

As always, my Emma was right… and she has once again steered us all in the right direction. Ah, that savior of ours! I have always been proud of her, but never more than now. Except maybe when she took the white witch on.

I love that woman.

Marco provided us with a smaller vessel, made of wood in the fashion of the old couriers of the Enchanted forest. It can hold fifty seated souls and is far less conspicuous looking than the very unsightly large ship that brought us all here. Regina has cast a cloaking spell on that massive ship; we are not about to raise awareness of our presence.

The Dark One has taken a scouting trip under an invisibility spell, to get a sense of the fashions of this realm, so we can blend in and start asking around.

Gods, I miss my little ones! I sometimes wake to the sound of Emma sobbing softly… and I hold her to me, I promise her that we will find them, get them back in one piece. And as soon as she has conciliated with her woe and achieves sleeping once more, it is I who begins to weep into the early hours of the morning.

I have become terribly used to the early shuffling noises of Henry readying himself for school, placing pop tarts in that magical little toasting box and shouting a happy "see-yah guys" as he exits on his way to his educational institution. I hear a deafening silence, devoid of Liam's delightful talkative gibberish and the cooing sounds of my little princess. We've each other, though; I am proud to say that this grievously poignant affair has, if anything, reminded us of how important we are to one another. It seems to have had the same effect on the Charmings and the … Stiltskins, if that's what they're called.

**Day one**

**Dusk, 19:04**

So far, we have been able to secure a communal room at an inn; this realm is surprisingly similar to the Enchanted Forest. Emma claims that she can perceive this place also has magic, albeit she claims it to feel irregularly odd… she tried to practice with a mild fireball, and she managed, albeit the fireball was… alas, pink. And cool. Cold fire.

Nobody really knows much about the rules of magic in this world.

We arrived in a single party earlier in the day and were welcomed by a rather shabby looking bluejacket that looked eerily familiar to a crewmember of mine that I had thought lost at sea over a century before Neverland. He tugged us in and welcomed us to Hamelin… and looked scared and saddened out of his bloody mind. But he took one look at me and… well, turns out he WAS that sailor I lost to the whims of nature. He smiled at me and just jumped. Begged me to take him with me, wherever I went, anywhere, except here.

I suppose it must be fortune smiling down on us that we found my old sailor; he was more than willing to talk, as long as we found a private setting. He accompanied us to the town and found us a decent inn. Currency was to be an issue: We all had gold from the Enchanted forest, but he swiftly took it from us and traded it at a very underground trader's for some gold of this realm.

Something's off here.

There are also no children around, not one giggle to be seen.

Travis Bailey (That was the sailor's name) sat with us at the inn, over a beer, and spoke of the nature of this town.

"Aye, Cap'n… here there be all the wealth a pirate's mind can dare dream of. But don't be fooled, sir. The wealth of this town has taken a heavy toll on the hearts of many a townsfolk. These coins you now hold in your hand in exchange for the ones you brought hither from your realm, they stem from the mountains that lie beyond the town. There are all sorts of magical beings there, elves, pixies, goblins, trolls…. And a sorcerer. One that wields a power far greater than any I've ever seen." He swallowed, looked around and craned his head to me. "His home sits atop the largest deposit of gold in the known universe, Cap'n. And he controls it; the trade, manufacture of goods… and extraction. There are never enough hands, never enough miners to cover the massive demands of the greedy wizard that controls this village and its surrounding realm. Once there were dwarves… and they were worked to death. The shafts, they say, are small… and no grown man would ever fit through them… so he… he…"

"He took the children…" I closed my eyes.

"Indeed, sir. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them." He nodded. "Many mothers still wonder whether their babes still live. Alas, over the side of the ridge that marks the end of the blackened gold mountain, is a stack of skeletons… wee ones, Sir." He gulped. "Many of the little ones have perished. And since there are no more infants in Hamelin, I believe he has taken to stealing babes from other realms."

So that's where my children were… a mine.

"And why hasn't anyone confronted him?" Belle quipped.

"He's… far too powerful, m'lady." He shook his head. "We know only of one wizard who might just be able to vanquish him. Alas, the price of the Piper's death is steep. Far too steep. For his very life is rooted on the very gold he sits upon. The only feasible way of doing so is… by destroying the mountain…"

Snow gasped. "But the children!"

"Aye, Ma'am. That is the reason why."

"So, the Pied Piper IS the wizard." Emma frowned.

"Indeed."

"Bailey…" I leaned in. "There's one matter that remains unresolved…" I swallowed. "I can understand where he'd want younglings to crawl and dig through the tunnels. That is barbaric enough. But…" I blinked. "Two of my three children are but infant babes. One is barely able to toddle and the other, well, she's but a wee little girl, in her swaddling blanket, still."

"What does he need babies for?" Rumple completed my thoughts.

Bailey closed his eyes. "Skipper… It is believed he… grows the wee boys to work the mines… but the lasses…" he shook his head and swallowed. "He…"

"He what?" David cut in.

Bailey sighed deep. "You must know, highness… there is no greater energy than love. After that, it is innocence. If consumed…"

"It makes you invincible…." Regina added.

"Innocence… was the main ingredient for Zelena to open her time portal." Rumple nodded. "It is a magical essence so hard to come by, that the only way to absorb its power into a human body is… by…"

We all knew the answer. Swan gasped and I saw her contain her tears.

The Dark One and I nearly toppled backwards. He had his little Milah and my Lizzie… BLOODY HELL IS THIS EVEN REALITY? We were the most loathsome, feared villains once, and not one of us would have even thought of ingesting wee baby girls! I could have sworn Belle was short of losing it. But Swan, terrified as she was, stood up and nearly knocked the inn table over. "My daughter's not about to become ANYONE'S lunch. We're here to get them all out of here, take them home and put an end to this son of a bitch. His reign of terror is over."

Bailey grinned. "All due respect, m'lady… only one very powerful wizard known through the realms has the necessary skill to weaken him enough to penetrate his defenses and destroy that evil gold mine from it's very core."

"There's three wizards here, buddy." Regina growled. "Take your pick."

He sighed. "Only the real Savior can get the job done."

I couldn't help smiling. Emma nodded. "Yeap. That would be me."

Bailey furrowed his brow at me and smiled. "You… espoused the Savior, Cap'n? Not bad for a pirate scoundrel."

I nodded with a grin.

"Aye…. But nobody's to destroy that bloody hell hole until we figure out a way to get the children out of there… all of them."

"Aye aye, skip. Only, for now, it's advisable to sleep. The Piper scouts the realm at night. The daytime is his time to admire and sulk in his pools of gold. It is safer to find the children during the daytime. I suggest you remain here, at the inn."

So here we will be till… tomorrow. As soon as the first golden rays of the sun touch this cursed horizon, we will make haste to the mountains, past the hills… and into the reign of the Pied Piper. For now, whether we can stomach the notion of what he usues baby girls for, we have to gather our strength.

Swan and I did not. We made love. We are still unsure how we managed with the anguish in our hearts, but it felt like the right thing to do.

Love binds. We WILL find our wee ones and our teenage boy… and all his friends.

I just wonder how many realms we'll need to visit to deliver the babes back into the arms of their loving parents?


End file.
